Go Fish
by FacelessGirl
Summary: Bella's life is up for a drastic change when she accidentally stumbles upon an unconscious guy with amnesia in the forest late one night. Before she knows it, the two of them are on a run across the country, constantly fighting—not only for their lives, but also with each other—searching for his true identity while dragging Bella's disobedient Chihuahua along for the ride. AH
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p>If you're wondering about the title, think of the card game where you ask if the other person have this or that card and they say "Go Fish" when you miss. A lot of question will be asked in this story and Bella and Edward will have to "Go Fish" a lot before they discover the truth.<p>

xXx

**A/N:** I know, I know . . . I shouldn't be starting something new when I still haven't updated ATBUD. But this idea for a story came to me while I was still hospitalized (For those of you who don't know, I've been in an accident where I got myself a severe concussion with a bleeding to my brain—amongst other things . . .) and it won't leave my mind. I'm hoping by getting this out that it'll leave me alone just long enough for me to get on with my first story. I'm thinking of this as sort of an 'on the side' story, and this chapter haven't been by any bet7a's, so it's probably filled with typos and stuff, but whatever . . . it's out here now.

Without any promise as to when I'll update this—Enjoy. =)

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

As I sigh in annoyance my breath shows in front of my face like a misty cloud for a brief second, then it's gone. It is dark and it is cold, being the end of November and all . . . and I should be lying under the warm cover of my bed. But nooo . . . instead I'm stumbling around in the forest, freezing my ass off in my thin flannel because I couldn't be bothered to put on my coat before I left—which I am really starting to regret now.

_Where is that stupid dog?_

I push aside some more branches as I continue further into the wood. The sound of twigs snapping under my fake UGG boots seems to echo through the tall trees with each step I take. I know it's just me, but I can't help the chill that seems to go through me, my mind making up ideas that I'm not alone, and for some reason I catch myself wondering if that sound came from me or someone else out here. Totally irrational, I know.

"Pip!" I call as I search between the trees with my flashlight that is shaped like a pink pig with the light coming out of its nostrils. I thought it was funny when I bought it, but it gives a crappy light when you're actually trying to see in the looming darkness. And, of course, the stupid little creature doesn't answer.

"Pippin!" I yell even louder. People always find it funny that my dog is named after a hobbit, but I can't help it, I fell hopelessly in love with the character when Billy Boyd portrayed him in _Lord of the Rings_. And just like the hobbit is too nosy for his own good, so is my dog. It was just supposed to have been a quick dump in the grass by the forest edge across from my home, and then back into a nice warm house, but then Jessica—a friend and co-worker at Newton Outfitters—send me a text and when I was done with my reply, the little fucker had high-tailed it. So now I'm walking around like an idiot, not able to see what's in front of me before it almost smacks me in the face.

"Pip!" I shout as I break free from the trees and enter a little clearing that leads down a bank to a small creek, which runs through here. The thought that he might have drowned enters my mind a short second before I finally spot the little monster and I sigh with relieve. He's standing down by the water, sniffing something.

"Pippin! Get back here!" Looking up at me, he just barks his stupid, tiny, and irritating bark—the kind that only a Chihuahua can do—and waggles his tale excitedly under the hoodie I bought for him to keep warm. Yes, I am one of those idiots who bought a Chihuahua when they where happening, so bite me.

"No, you brainless animal, get back here!" I try once more, I even stomp my foot as I point to the spot in front of me, but he just stays where he is, continuing to look up at me, waggling his tail and barks once. I sigh as I realize that I probably have to go get him myself.

"Tomorrow, I am just gonna put you on your leash and tie you to a tree out in the yard until you've done your business, you hear me?" I tell him as I carefully make my way down the slope. I know banks to be tricky and slippery. If you're not cautious your feet will give out from under you and you'll slide down the dirt on your ass. I do not wanna do that tonight. But as I get closer, I stop dead at the hair-raising scene in front of me. I have to claps my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming from the shock.

There is a body laying there—a guy. His legs are in the freezing water as he lies on his back on the cold and damp ground. It feels like my heart is trying to beat it's way out of my chest by the racing pace it's going, the sound of blood rushing past my ears seems to deafen me. I've never seen a dead body before, and I sure as hell wasn't expecting to find one out here, in boring old Forks.

"Pippin! Come here!" For some reason I now start to whisper at the top of my lungs, which is pretty stupid, considering the guy is dead, it's not like he is going to suddenly rise like a zombie and shush me for being too loud. But I can't help myself, I'm in the middle of the forest, it's late, dark, cold, and this is really, really creepy!

Pippin just continues to waggle his tale excitedly, not coming any closer and I am afraid to approach him any further, partly because of the dead body but also because I can feel that my feet might give out on me any second, and I'll be on my butt in the water. Suddenly I feel my phone vibrate against my thigh and I scream out in shock, dropping my flashlight in the debris.

"Shit!" I curse as I grab my chest, trying to calm myself, taking deep breaths and then it hits me: I should call the police—that's what you do in these kind of situations, right? With a shaky hand I pull my phone from my pocket and bend carefully to pick up my flashlight again. I shine the light over at the dead guy and Pippin to keep an eye on him, his eyes light up in a creepy way in the darkness and I try to move a little closer.

"Come," I command again in an effort to call Pippin to me with zero luck. Instead I focus on my phone, ignoring the new text from Jessica and the fact that it's almost out of power, I dial the number for the police. I listen to the phone ring once . . . twice, and then I drop it in shock as my feet give out on me. I even think I peed myself a little. The guy just fucking moved his hand!

Of course, Pippin is all excited, thinking I'm being funny and comes running to me like he's expecting me to start playing with him as I'm desperately fumbling around in the fallen leaves, trying to locate my phone, breathing heavily.

"Come on! Come on!" I can feel the damp from the earth starting to soak through my flannel as I finally manage to retrieve the phone.

"Hello? Hello?" I press it to my ear but nothing. I try to push some buttons but it's dead. "Fuck! Fuck-fuck-fuck!" I shine my flashlight over at the—not dead—guy again. "Uh . . . are you okay?"

_Yeah, brilliant question, Bella. Of course he's okay, he just felt like lying half dead in the cold forest. Moron . . ._

"Um . . . can you hear me?" With my dead phone back in my pocket, and Pippin back on his leash, I try to get up on my feet and come closer. As I reach the guy I touch my fingers to the side of his neck with a trembling hand, trying to feel his pulse. For some reason I notice that he's actually quite handsome, ignoring the fact that he's dirty and have several cuts and bruises to his face. His pulse is weak and he's wet and freezing cold, only wearing a dressy button-down shirt and jeans.

"Can you hear me?" I ask again, trying to open his eyes and shine my light into them, they are a surprisingly pale greenish color, almost ghost like, and check to see if his pupils react. I'm not exactly sure why . . . but they always do that on doctor-shows . . .

He groans and a slight wrinkle comes to his forehead.

"Hey," I speak softly, my nerves calmed, as I'm only concerned with getting him out of the forest now. "Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?" Nothing . . . "Listen, I need to get you out of here, do you think you can stand?" I move around him and try to pull him up by grabbing a hold under his arms from behind and he groans again.

_Fuck he weighs a ton!_

"Listen, you have to help me here. I can't carry you alone." Still no reaction. I sigh as I change tactics, only trying to get his one arm around my neck in order to pull him from the ground. My legs starts to shake under his weight as I begin to pull him up, but then it's like he comes to life and tries to help me get him off the ground.

"Yes, like that . . . good . . ." After some difficulties I manage to get the guy up to a stand, well, sort of. He's leaning pretty heavily against me and it's with slow and heavy steps I get us out of the forest. I'm holding on to his arm so tight my nails almost bite into the skin on his wrist, trying to support him with my other arm around his back, while also holding on to both Pippin's leash and the damn flashlight for me to somewhat see where I place my feet. Breaking free of the forest, I cross the dead, empty street and start to climb the stairs to my small, one bedroom house where I thankfully turned the porch light on before I left.

It is the house I grew up in and it used to be my dad's. This, and a small amount of cash, was all he left me with when he died a couple of years ago. My mother was never in the picture. We didn't have a lot of money, which is why I never got to go to college, but he always tried to give me the best of what he could. For example, he gave me the bedroom up stairs to give me some privacy and stayed on the pullout couch in the living room, himself.

I didn't bother to lock the door before I left, so I just enter, carrying the guy into the small living room where a lamp on an end table is lit, and drop him onto the soft couch. I sigh heavily from the exhaustion, feeling out of breath as I help putting his legs up. Satisfied that he seems comfortable with a pillow under his head, I go back to close and lock the front door before turning off the porch light, and letting Pippin off his leash and pulling the hoodie off him.

Ignoring my own wet clothes, I go back into the living room. If it weren't for the fact that I knew he was breathing, the guy looks pretty dead. I'm standing there, looking at him and don't know what to do next, but with a swallow I tell myself I need to get him out of his wet clothes.

"Okay." I sigh, trying to pull myself together. I start with the easy part, his shoes. They are a pair of black Nike and soaking wet just like his socks. I place them on the radiator to dry. Then, carefully, I start to undo the buttons of his shirt, for some reason my fingers starts shaking as I work my way down. As the shirt comes undone I notice he's muscular, not like a weightlifter but he clearly works out. He has a very nice six-pack and those sexy-as-hell lines by his hips, which disappears under the waistband of his white boxers and dark jeans. I know it's wrong, but my mouth falls open with fascination. As I get his left arm out of the sleeve my eyes becomes big. He has a full sleeve tattooed there. It's sort of a sailor team with a ship, fish and such.

"Are you a sailor?" I wonder out loud as I look at the tattoo. I notice a lifebuoy in the design with the letters T-A-G on it. "Tag . . . is your name Tag?" I ask him, hoping to see some reaction in his face. "Tag?" I shake him carefully. "Can you hear me? Tag, wake up." Nothing. I get his other arm out of the shirt and carefully pull it out from under him. Then I hesitate for a moment. "Fuck it," I mumble and undo his jeans. It proves to be a bit of a challenge to get the wet jeans off of him without his boxers following along, and that's where I draw the line. He may be very doable, cuts and bruises taken into account, but I'm not going to have a peek at an unconscious guy's goods. When they finally give, I almost stumble onto my ass and Pippin, who's been right next to me this whole time, quickly moves out of the way afraid I might land on him.

Deciding that the guy just has to live with wearing the wet boxers, I grab a couple of blankets and cover him to keep warm before I head into the bathroom. I grab some bandages and a washcloth, which I run under the hot water before I go back into the living room. Sitting on my knees down on the floor next to the couch, I try to clean up his cuts and wash his face and hands from the dirt, before placing some bandages on the cuts he has to his cheekbone and eyebrow. Satisfied that I can't do anymore for him, I take his clothes with me and place them by the bottom of the stairs, before quickly running up to my bedroom. I change out of my own dirty and wet flannel, putting on a new PJ, and make my way back down the stairs where I grab his clothes and continue down into the basement. I throw both his and mine into the washing machine and start the load.

Then, I start to look at some of the boxes I have on a storage shelf down here. For some reason I never got further than to place my dad's things in boxes in the basement. I had told myself a million times that I needed to get rid of it, but now it's actually coming in quite handy that I still have a box full of his clothes. It might be a little big on the guy, but at least he won't have to walk around almost naked. I get a shirt, a pair of jeans, and some socks, and a belt—just for safety measures—before I reenter the living room. The guy hasn't moved but Pippin has jumped up on the couch and is now lying comfortably at his side.

"No, Pippin." I place the fresh clothes on the coffee table before lifting Pippin up from the couch. "Leave him alone." Turning off the light I silently leave the living room with Pippin on my arm. As I'm about to go back up the stairs, a thought hits me.

_What if the guy is dangerous . . ?_

For all I know he could be some criminal who I just dragged into my house . . . Now I really wish I could call the police.

_Stupid dead phone!_

Instead of taking the stairs, I enter my small kitchen. I look around for a moment then pick up a big knife. Turning it around in my hand I decide against it. The chance of me stabbing myself in my sleep is too big. Then I spot my big frying pan still sitting on the stove.

"Perfect." Grabbing the pan I'm about to leave before a second thought hits me. I need to make sure that the guy can't get to the knifes either . . . he might use them against me. That is why I lock the kitchen door, taking the key with me, before I go up to my bedroom where I also lock the door and set my alarm before getting into bed.

It's difficult falling asleep. Pippin is, of course, out the minute I hit the light, but I'm finding myself twisting and turning, trying to get comfortable with the frying pan. Eventually, I manage to fall asleep.

xXx

I wake up startled when someone is shaking me gently, and on a simple reaction swing the frying pan. It makes a loud clang as it makes contact and the person shouts out before falling to the floor.

"OW!"

I quickly jump up from my bed to the other side as Pippin starts barking madly in the middle of it.

"Get away from me!" I command, holding the frying pan like a bat, ready to strike out again if he comes any closer.

"Fuck! You hit me!" the guy complains as he get's up from the floor. In the light from my bedside lamp, I notice that he's wearing my dad's clothes. Then I remember I locked the door before I went to bed.

"Wait, how did you get in here?" I ask, still holding the pan in front of me. "Pippin, shut the fuck up!" I then yell for the dog to keep quiet. For once he actually does as he's told and sits down. "I locked the door . . ." I inform the guy.

"I picked the lock," he explains, holding a hand to the shoulder I hit as he looks at me with a surprised expression. "I wake up in this strange house with all the doors locked, so I picked them to find out where I am. Please, put down the pan, I'm not going to hurt you."

"Who are you?" I inquire, ignoring his request.

"I . . ." the guy stops as he hesitates, a slight wrinkle coming to his forehead. "I- I don't know . . ." He speaks quietly, almost like this comes as a surprise even to him.

"What do you mean 'you don't know'? Who are you?" I demand again.

"I don't know. I can't remember . . . I don't know!" he repeats when he sees my incredulous look.

"Your tattoo says 'Tag'," I vent, still with the frying pan at the ready. "Is your name Tag?"

The guy claps a hand to his arm with the tattoo that is now covered by my dad's shirt. "I don't know . . . I can't remember . . ."

"What . . ? You've got amnesia or something?" I question with skepticism. "Where do you come from?"

"I have no idea . . ." the guy says quietly as he touches the side of his head absentmindedly and looks at me with scared eyes. "I have absolutely no clue who I am . . ."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **I hope those who are following ATBUD isn't getting too upset with me for not updating when I'm already updating this one, I'm just having too much fun writing this! That doesn't mean I'm not working on ATBUD, it just takes me a lot longer to write those chapters. Anyway, I'd like to thank both brandie722 , Cynders Forces, and eli-rose for your kind reviews. I was very happy to receive them and I hope I don't disappoint with this one. =) Also, I've uploaded some pictures for the story—they're on my profile. Again, this hasn't been by any beta so sorry 'bout my shitty English grammar and whatever else you may find wrong in my writing. What can I say . . . I'm human.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Okay, so maybe I'm both stupid and naive, but the scared and confused look on the guys face when he realizes he can't remember who he is, kind of convince me. After making him swear, like, five hundred times that he won't hurt me; I let go of the frying pan. Since I am already awake, even though it's shit o'clock and my alarm hasn't even gone off yet, I come downstairs with him to explain how I found him and dragged his ass back to my place. He is very thankful that I helped him and keeps telling me so as I'm preparing breakfast for us.

"Thank you for all of this," he says as I place a bowl of Fruity Cheerios in front of him on the tiny kitchen table by the window, and take my seat across from him with my own bowl, pulling my feet up to rest on the chair's edge as the linoleum floor is cold to my bare feet.

"You're welcome, Tag." I shrug before placing a spoonful in my mouth. It really isn't much in my opinion but apparently it is to him. We had agreed that I'd call him Tag for the time being. Evidently he didn't appreciate being called "Dude".

"So," I say between crunching the Cheerios, not bothering with table manners. "What's the last thing you do remember?" He tries to think as he finishes chewing with his mouth closed; clearly he has better manners than I.

"Uh . . . nothing . . . I really can't remember anything . . ."

"Not even like . . . if you like seafood or not?"

He shakes his head. "No, nothing."

"Well, it can't be nothing; you knew how to pick my lock with just my hairpins," I disagree.

"That's true. I don't know why I knew how to do that . . ." He becomes quiet as if he's thinking for a moment. "I know stuff—like I know how to tie my shoes . . . I just can't remember anything directly linked with me."

"Creepy . . ." I mumble to my bowl of colorful floating rings.

"Try being the one who has no idea who he is."

"Right . . ." I don't know how to respond to that and try to change the subject. "Um, I have to go to work soon—it's Black Friday—so, you know–"

"It was Thanksgiving yesterday?"

"Yeah . . . so I have a pretty long shift, but I can drop you off at the police station on the way if you'd like? Then maybe they can help you," I suggest. As I do so, I realize that I really don't want him to leave. It's totally irrational but I'd like to get to know him better—as impossible as it is. During the very short time I've spent with him he's been nothing but sweet to me. Plus, it doesn't hurt that he's easy to the eye—and it's always nice to have something pretty to look at. I may be a bit twisted, but the bandages, bruises, and hint of stubbles that has appeared over the night, only adds to his sexiness. I can't help feeling drawn to him.

"Sure . . ." he agrees with a nod and then hesitates a moment as he looks at me with those pale eyes that are so far from my own brown ones. "I'm sorry, Bella," he says as he puts his spoon down. "I'm not trying to intrude or anything. I mean, I've already taken up way to much of your hospitality–"

"No-no, it's fine!" I protest and then clear my throat as I realize I sound a bit too eager before I continue in what hopefully is a casual voice. "It's no problem, really."

"Well, if that's the case. I was wondering if maybe I could stay a little longer? I'm having this massive headache, and it would be nice if I could get a little more sleep before having to answer a bunch of questions that I don't have any answers to."

"Oh." I look a bit surprised at him. _He __**wants**__ to stay at my shitty shack . . ?_ "Uh, I guess that's okay . . . but I won't get back 'til six this evening and by then the police will be closed."

"The police closes?" he asks with an incredulous look.

"Yeah, it's a small town. It's too expensive to stay open at night," I inform as I get up and leave the kitchen to go get my painkillers in the bathroom for him.

"Then what do you do if you need the police?"

"You call their number and a squad from the nearest city comes," I explain, reentering the kitchen and getting Tag a glass of water for the pills before I sit back down.

"Thanks. So you won't mind if I have to stay another night?" he questions with an insecure look on his face, popping the white pills. My stomach is secretly making somersaults of joy, which I try not to let it show on my face as I answer.

"I guess it's okay with me if you're okay with being Mr. Nobody for one more day?"

"Thank you." He smiles at me despite the fact that it looks a little painful.

"Sure thing," I mumble before quickly stuffing a new spoon of synthetic colored Cheerios in my mouth to stop a shit-eating grin from spreading across my face.

xXx

After getting dressed in my red, Newton Outfitters work-shirt with my name on it, and after showing Tag where to find everything he might possibly need during the day, I put on my boots, ready to leave.

"Oh, and if you don't mind, could you take Pippin out to take a leak at some point? He's used to wait for me to get back, but if you're here . . ?"

"Of course, I'll be happy too," Tag agrees as he watches me get my coat on, standing with Pippin in his arm, scratching him behind his ear. Obviously I'm not the only one smitten by this guy.

"Thank you. I guess I'll see you when I get back then."

"Yeah."

"Bye." I smile awkwardly before leaving out the door, going around the house to my small garage where my old, red, and beat-up Volkswagen Rabbit from 1977 waits. As I'm driving to work across town, I'm catching myself daydreaming and making up fantasies involving Tag and me. How we will fall in love and do all the bullshit that couples in love do. But no sooner is he presenting me with a ring in my head, do I reprimand myself for letting my thoughts spin wild like that.

"He doesn't even know who he fucking is, Bella!"

When I get to Newton Outfitters, the parking lot is already pretty packed. I find a spot at the back entrance and place my stuff in my locker before going into the store. Newton Outfitters carries a variety of sporting and camping goods; a lot of tourists comes through here when they're out hiking in the temperate rainforest which the area is known for. Jessica, with her wild, dark, and curly hair, is already behind the counter, wishing people a good day as she hands them their bags with new purchases. She is twenty-four like me, and we have been good friends since we went to Forks High together. There were never any judgments between us as she grew up much like me, with a single mother who had to work two jobs to make ends meet.

"Hey," she greets me as I come up next to her. "You never answered my text last night. That'll be $29.99." She smiles at the costumer and takes the bills she's handed. "Thank you, have a great day."

"Oh, I know—sorry. Something sort of happened last night and I totally forgot."

"What?" she asks and looks at me curiously. I'm about to tell her about Tag when a woman asks for my assistance with picking out a sleeping bag for her son.

"I'll tell you later, okay?" I say as I leave the counter and lead the costumer over to our selection.

Later turns into much later. The store is filled with people, all hoping to make a great buy and I find myself constantly occupied. I don't even have time to think about how Tag is doing at home—or make up any more fantasies. It isn't until our boss asks us to refill the shelves with the products from last season, which have been reduced in price to a point where we might as well give the shit away, that we get a chance to gossip. We are standing off to the side with boxes of stuff around us as I tell Jessica what happened.

"But, you have to go to the police, B. What if he's, like, wanted for murder or something?" Jessica says, looking at me with big eyes.

"He's not a murderer . . ." I reply with perhaps a slightly insecure smile, trying to make it come off as forbearing.

"You don't know that—_he_ doesn't know that."

"Well, I just sort of . . ." I pause as I try to come up with the right words.

With a sudden intake of a breath Jessica grins at me. "You. Slut."

"Bitch?" I say back with confusion—just for safety measures.

"You just want to do him!" She continues to grin at me.

"Shut up!" I say embarrassed, and smack her lightly over the arm with a handbook of "How to Build Your Own Raft".

"O.M.G. You don't even know the guy! You _can't_ get to know him! God, this is so surreal!" she says, shaking her head and laughing lightly.

"I don't think _knowing_ a guy justifies wanting to do him," I argue back. "Besides, Pippin likes him. If a dog that lives by instinct likes him, he can't be that bad."

"I don't know . . . a beat-up guy lying unconscious in the woods in the middle of the night, Bella . . . it doesn't exactly scream Mr. White Knight."

"Excuse me, Miss," a costumer interrupts our conversation.

"Yes?" I smile politely as I turn to him.

"Is this the strongest rope you carry?" he asks as he holds out a thin, red rope to me.

"Yeah. You see this blue thread that's been intertwine with the rope? It gives it extra strength to carry a much bigger weight than one would expect," I explain as I point out the blue in the red.

"Oh, okay, thank you."

"You're welcome." I smile again as he turns to go to the counter with the rope and Jessica and I continue our talk.

xXx

Around six I finally get back into my car and drive home. My head is buzzing with the noise from all the costumers, yet Tag and his six-pack manages to enter my mind and I can feel the excitement of seeing him again starting to spread. When I finally arrive at my house, I'm met by the smell of dinner being cooked.

_Fabulous!_

"Hi!" I call as I get out of my coat and boots.

"Hey." Tag comes into the view as a hyper Pippin runs at me, ecstatic at seeing me. "I hope it's okay I started to make something to eat?"

"It is if you made some for me, too," I say, smiling.

"Of course," he replies as he goes back into the kitchen.

Carrying Pippin in my arms I go over to my coffee table that seems covered with papers, some curled up into balls. With a light furrow to my forehead I put Pippin down on the sofa and pick up one of the sheets. It's a bunch of numbers and scribbling—some of it seems to have been crossed out aggressively. With a quick look at the other papers I see that they're all the same: weird numbers and stuff that's been crossed out.

"What is this?" I ask Tag, coming over to lean against the kitchen's doorframe and hold up the paper for him to see what I'm talking about.

"Uh, I've been trying to figure out who I am . . ." he explains as he drains the water from the spaghetti he's cooked. "When I took a shower earlier, I noticed some numbers hidden in my tattoo. And see this." He points to a rope that is twisting and turning as it wraps around his wrist, ending with a nautical star over the artery. "It's Greek letters. Sigma, eta, epsilon, theta, alpha." He points out the words for me as he turns his wrist over.

"What does it mean?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh."

"But I'm trying to figure it out."

"Well, if there's anything I can do to help . . ." I offer, a bit unsure as I look down at all the weird things he's written on the paper. This seems a little out of my league but I'll give it a try if he wants me too.

"Thanks, but I think my head needs a break. I've been on it all day," he says as he stirs a pot of tomato sauce.

"Oh, okay."

After eating dinner, I go up to my bedroom and find my old laptop so that Tag can continue his investigations on it. I feel stupid just sitting there next to him on the couch, flipping through the TV channels—too distracted to actually pick something to watch because I'm already watching him from the corner of my eye. Finally I get up, saying I want to take Pippin out for a walk. What I really do is call Jessica to share my distress.

Knowing that he is just downstairs doesn't really help my sleep either. Just like last night I twist and turn, trying to push him out of my thoughts. Therefore, I'm a little surprised when I wake up to the sound of my alarm. Dragging my feet downstairs, Tag is still asleep on the sofa bed. I don't want to wake him, so I just jump into the shower. When I'm done, Tag is awake, sitting bare-chested with blankets wrapped around his lower body.

"Morning," I greet, trying not to be to obvious in my ogling and feeling far from sexy myself, standing there with a towel around my hair.

"Morning," he replies sleepily.

"So, did you get anywhere with all your numbers and stuff?" I ask, pointing to his tattoo.

"No."

"Oh . . ." I can't help the pity in my voice. "Well, maybe the police will be able to find some stuff."

"Yeah . . . can I take a shower?" he asks as he gets up, rubbing his eyes with one hand while holding the blankets secure around his waist with the other.

"Uh . . ." I stammer and have to snap myself out of my haze. "Sure."

Half an hour later I place a bowl of Fruity Cheerios in front of him like yesterday.

"Thanks," he says before taking the first spoonful. It's clear to me that he's feeling frustrated that he didn't get anywhere with his research last night, so we sit in silence, eating our breakfast while Pippin sits in his usual begging spot down on the floor.

I'm not exactly sure what happens next, but out of nowhere the window we sit in front of starts exploding. Glass is flying everywhere and Tag roughly tumbles the table over, making Pippin sprint out of the kitchen as our breakfast fly across the room and he pulls me out of my chair and down on the floor with him.

"GET DOWN!"

"What the fuck? Ow! Shit!" I clap a hand to my cheek, it stings and as I look at my fingers I see blood.

"Are you alright?" he asks me as we lay pushed up against the wall under the window while Pippin is barking at us from the doorway, surprised by the sudden change in things.

"Yeah, no, I got cut on the cheek by the glass. What the fuck just happened?" I look at him confused and he silently points to my kitchen cabinets across from us. They're filled with gunshot holes and my eyes become huge. "Someone's shooting at us?" Out of reflexes of wanting to get away, I start to get up. But as soon as I do so, Tag pulls me back down and a new volley of bullets is fired through the broken window. I can't help the scream that escapes me as Pippin backs away into the living room.

"Shh!" Tag slaps his hand over my mouth. "Quiet!" he whispers before removing his hand and carefully reaches up and pulls my curtain shut. Another volley is fired and tears them to shreds. I really have to control myself to not start screaming again.

"We have to get down in the basement," Tag whispers as everything becomes silent again. "You have to crawl, but stay along the wall, and when you get to the door make a fast jump through it and then hurry down the basement," he explains in a whisper.

"Yeah, alright, Mr. 007, I'll do that. Are you crazy? I'll get shot!" I whisper back.

"We can't stay here, we have to move," Tag insists, sounding surprisingly calm considering someone just tried to kill us over breakfast. When he sees the look on my face he sighs with relinquishment. "Okay, I'll go first. Copy me." Tag moves pass me and he starts to crawl towards the door. When he reaches it, he gets up in a crouching position and then jumps through it into the living room area and quickly rolls out of sight. No shot is fired. "Okay, Bella, your turn. You can do this." Tag's whisper comes from next to the open doorway where he can't be seen.

"I can't," I protest, feeling scared out of my mind.

"Yes you can! It's not that difficult. I'll help you through the door. Now hurry!" Shaking so much you'd think I am having an epileptic seizure I start crawling along the wall. When I reach the door I can see Tag holding Pippin in he's arm. "Okay, you're doing great, Bella. Now get up in a crouching position like me," he instructs and I slowly do as he tells me. "Feel how you got a natural jump in your legs now? Like a frog?" I nod hesitantly but it's a total lie; I can't feel anything other than the fact that I'm freaking the fuck out. "You need to use that as you jump. I'm right here, ready to pull you through. Ready?"

"No."

"On three. One, two, three!" I jump, and as I do I feel Tag grabbing a strong hold of my arm and quickly pulls me to him. "Hurry!" Before I have time to do anything Tag is moving us to the door for the basement under the stairs. We hurry down the steps to the large space down here. "Do you have a safety room or something we can use?" Tag asks as we stand in the darkness.

"Uh, no . . ." I say confused, taking Pippin from him as he starts to look around.

"Okay, in here." He's moved over to a broom cupboard after grabbing one of my dad's old screwdrivers and quickly starts emptying it. "Get in." I don't have to be told twice and move into the small space with Tag right beside me as he closes the door, isolating us in the small space. I'm shaking and breathing heavily as Tag simply stands there completely still, listening intensely and not making a sound. But I can't keep my mouth shut.

"Why is someone shooting at us?" I ask with a quivering voice.

"I don't know."

"I'm mean, I'm an absolute nobody and this is a small town–"

"Bella, I know as much as you do."

"Yeah but I'm the only one freaking out here!"

"Shh!" A loud crash sounds from up above.

"Fuck! He's in the house?" I start to whisper in a panic now but Tag simply stays quiet. "What the fuck do we do? We can't stay here, I don't wanna die in a fucking broom cupboard!" Tag is quiet a moment longer then finally speaks.

"Okay, I'll go up there," he declares and starts opening the door.

"What? No! Are you fucking crazy? You can't leave me!" I protest and grab a hold of his shirt to stop him.

"Bella, we have to do something, you just said it yourself. Stay here, I'll block the door–"

"You _are_ fucking crazy!"

"–it'll make it seem like the cupboard haven't been used for years. I'll make sure you can kick it open, but stay here and wait for me. And keep Pippin quiet," he adds before he moves out of the cupboard and I can hear him quietly move stuff around on the other side. "Okay. I'll be back," he tells me before I hear him go back up the stairs.

"Yeah, okay, Terminator," I mumble as I stand in the darkness, pretty sure that is the last I'll ever see of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **It's so wonderful to get your reviews and speculations as to whom Edward is and what is going on—makes me all smiley. Thank you, mountainlion718, crazykatwp, snowgood and TheGodsCanDance. After this chapter I'll probably not update 'til after I've updated ATBUD, it wouldn't be fair to those who are following that story. And also, I have exams coming up that I need to study for, the first is just a few days away. Now, back into the broom cupboard.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

It is silent for a while as I'm standing in the cupboard. I can feel a drop of blood that slowly runs down my cheek from the cut, and quickly dry it away as I try to hear even the smallest of sounds. Then, suddenly, a loud commotion breaks out, making me hold on even tighter to Pippin to make sure he stays quiet as I'm listening intensely. It sounds like my house is being torn apart and then a gun is fired. A small surprised shriek escapes me as the racket continues but then it suddenly goes quiet.

"Fuck . . ." I'm starting to seriously panic now, contemplating if I should break out of the cupboard but then, after a short moment, I hear steps of someone coming down the stairs. My heart is threatening to give me a heart attack as I back up against the back of the cupboard to get as far away from the door as possible. The barricade in front of the door starts to be moved and the next second the door is pulled open forcefully.

"Come on! We have to go!" I'm so relieved that it's Tag; my panicked mind makes me break down in tears as all the anxiety cramped up inside me let go. "Come on, we don't have time for that!" Tag grabs a hold of my hand and quickly drags me out and up the basement steps. Up here everything is chaos. My bookcase is turned over and all the books and things that use to live in it are spread across the floor. The small end table is shattered into a thousand pieces and my coffee table is broken in two as my TV lies face down, smashed onto the floor. The only thing that seems untouched is my sofa. However, it's the scene by my front door—which has been kicked down—that makes me scream out. There on the floor, next to my big frying pan, lays a man tied up in a rope. He's bleeding badly from both his hand and face where it looks like his nose is broken. But it's the sight of the screwdriver that's been stabbed through his hand and his foot that's twisted out in an unnatural angle that make the hair at the back of my neck rise.

"Oh my God! Is he dead?"

"No, so we have to move. Go upstairs and grab everything you can, we need to leave."

"We have to call the police!" I protest.

"And risk waiting here for some of his buddies to come find us? Bella, trust me, we have to go—now."

Unable to clear my mind from all that's happened I simply do as Tag says, the fear of him actually being right—that there are more than just this one—overshadows everything else and I quickly run up the stairs with Pippin in my arms and enter my bedroom. With hasty movements I start grabbing everything and flung it into a large gym bag: clothes, shoes, the contents of drawers . . . anything. Tag comes running up the stairs then.

"Got everything?"

"Yeah." I nod as I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, putting on an old pair of shoes.

"Good, then let's go."

Grabbing a hold of Pippin and the bag, I run after Tag down the stairs. He's taken the blankets he's slept in and made two bundles of things out of them. He grabs them as he pushes me toward the front door.

"Don't look," he advises as we reach the man, but, of course, I do.

"Wait!" I stop dead. "I know him! He's that guy from the store yesterday, I helped him pick out that rope!" I recognize the red rope with a thin blue thread intertwine in it that he's tied up in. "Why is he trying to kill us?"

"I don't know, but we have to move!" Tag says, grabbing my coat and handbag from the coat rack and pushes me out the door. We run to my car in the garage as Tag digs my keys out of my purse and unlock the passenger door. "Get in."

"You get in . . . this is my car."

"Seriously? Are you arguing with me over who gets to drive?"

"Well, I'm the one with an actual license and you don't know your way around town."

"For fuck's sake." Tag takes Pippin from me and hands me the keys. Immediately I run to the other side of the car and open the door, stuffing my bag onto the backseat where Tag's bundles already have been placed, before getting in and starting the car. Quickly backing out of the garage the tires screeches as I slam down the breaks, turning the wheel I speed down the road at a deadly rate, getting us the hell out of there.

"What just happened? Who was that guy? He had a gun! How did you stop him?" The questions are flying out of my mouth as I try to focus on the road.

"I just reacted on my instincts."

"Instincts? You stabbed a fucking screwdriver through his hand! You completely dislocated his foot! How is that instincts? Who the fuck are you?" I ask, giving him a short glance with furrowed brows, which he returns.

"Don't look at me like that, I already swore like a million times that I won't hurt you. The guy was trying to kill us, Bella. Are you trying to kill me?"

"No!" I say loudly, shitting my pants that he'll do something to me if he thinks I am.

"Then why would I want to hurt you? Let's just get away from here," Tag pleads as he looks in the outside mirror.

"Where should we go? The police?"

"Sure, but you need to go faster, I think that car is following us," Tag says calmly, still looking in the outside mirror.

"What!" I quickly turn to look out the rear window, panicked that Tag is actually right about there being more of them. But as I do so, I accidentally turn the wheel to the right too, running us off the road and into the dirt. Tag quickly grabs the wheel, steering the car back in its right direction.

"Eyes on the road!" he exclaims.

"Sorry!" I focus my attention in front of me again. "What if they have guns, too? They'll shoot us as soon as we stop!"

"Try and cut them off," Tag suggest, still keeping an eye on the car following us.

"Cut them off? I don't know how to do that!" I say as I press down my sorry excuse of a car horn to make people move out of the way as we hit the downtown area—if you can actually call it that . . .

"Well, then you should've let me drive, shouldn't you?"

"Just tell me what to do!"

Following Tag's directions as best as I can—arguing against him from time to time—I finally manage to lose our followers as I run a red light at a crossroad, right in front of a huge truck with giant logs on its flatbed. I'm not ashamed to admit that I screamed my lungs out as I pushed the pedal to the metal, but it worked. When the crossroad is cleared from the truck we are long gone, mingled between the other cars on the road.

"What now?" I ask, holding on so tight to the wheel that my knuckles are white.

"We need some place where we can disappear until we're certain we're not being followed."

"Where? There's nowhere to hide here other than in the forest."

"How far away is the biggest city?"

"Um, that's Seattle, it's about three hours from here. But what do we do about going to the police?"

"We can go to the police when we get to Seattle, please. I just want to make sure we're safe before we decide to do anything else."

"Okay." I sigh, trying to calm myself as we leave Forks behind, heading out the highway.

"You did great." Tag tries to assure me, probably in an effort to make me relax as he reaches over and dry away the blood on my cheek that has reappeared from the cut. It isn't really working though, as wary thoughts start popping up in my head and I slap away his hand, not wanting him to touch me. Tag holds up his hand in surrender.

"What did you do? You did something. _You_ did something and now somebody is trying to kill _me_." I glance at him, not bothering to hide the mistrust I suddenly feel towards him—Jessica's words clear in my head. _"__What if he's, like, wanted for murder or something?"_

"I don't know," Tag says, still acting too calm for my liking while Pippin is busy looking out at the green scenery from his lap.

"You don't even react normal."

"What do you mean?"

"A normal person would freak out if someone fired a gun at him."

"So I'm better at keeping a cool head than you." Tag shrugs innocently.

"It's not normal," I repeat as I give him a quick glance.

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Exactly! How can I even trust what you're saying? For all I know you could have filled me with lies from the moment you woke up! God, I am so stupid for believing you!" My frustration is clear as I start to speak at a louder volume.

"Hey! I'm not lying!" Tag's voice rises in self-defense.

"How do I know I'm not helping the bad guy right now, huh?"

"Uh, perhaps because someone just tried to kill us by shooting through your kitchen window! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think that's exactly police procedure!" Tag says in annoyance. I glance at him and calm down a little as I realize he's right; the police wouldn't do something like that.

"Well . . . yeah . . . okay . . . but something is still rotten in Denver."

"I'm pretty sure it's 'in the state of Denmark'."

"Oh shut up, Shakespeare!" I respond, annoyed, and Tag actually has the balls to chuckle at me. I cast him a nasty look and he tries to hide his smile with little success, which makes me roll my eyes at him. "It's not funny." Apparently Tag is of a different opinion as his chuckles breaks into actual laughter, which he, with all his bullshit manners, try to hide with a hand.

_Idiot._

I turn on the radio to drown him out and we're silent for a while. Tag keeps glancing in the outside mirror to make sure no one is following us, but I have one more question needing an answer.

"Why was my frying pan next to the guy?"

"Uh, I sort of used it to hit him in the head . . . that's what knocked him out . . ."

"And broke his nose?"

"That, too. Guess I have a better swing than you." Tag smiles at me as I give him another annoyed look and turn up the volume of the radio again, before speeding up and overtaking a car as we head for Seattle.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **I know I said I wouldn't update until ATBUD was . . . but I had this chapter ready so why just have it lying around my Mac without putting it out here for you to enjoy. There's no point in that. Plus, it gave me some pleasure to finish it after a hell of a written math exam (my worst class) where I was forced to race across the city (I live in a big city) at the last minute because the people in charge were idiots and didn't know what they were talking about. I was at the right place at the right time but the idiot-woman told me I wasn't—she was wrong and the only one to take the fall was me because I had less time to finish the exam. I was so pissed afterwards but then saw that I had gotten some new reviews and that cheered me up a bit. So thank you VictoriaCullen, mountainlion718, snowgood and whisperwind for help brightening my day—you guys are awesome.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

One hour of complete silence . . . well, not counting the radio, of course. But it's been almost an hour of complete silence and it's driving me crazy! It just feels extremely awkward sitting this close to someone that you barely know without saying a word. Not to mention that I'm trying really hard not to think about what happened back home or I might lose my cool. And this—the silence—it's not exactly helping. I can't help the annoyance that starts building up inside of me. I mean, why is he just sitting there, being all quiet and not so much as trying to make some polite conversation? He's just staring out the window or patting Pippin. I don't know what it is, but this tension seems to grow around me and it's making me edgy. Even Pippin seems to sense it as he makes groaning noises from time to time.

With a glance down at the dashboard I notice the fuel gauge is running low, and finally break the silence.

"Uh, I hate to bring this to you, but we have to stop for gas if we want to make it to Seattle."

"Oh, well, do you have the money?" Tag asks and looks at me.

"Yeah," I say, furrowing my brows and feeling a little offended mixed with my, I'll admit it, irrational irritation, which makes me snap at him. "I may live in a small house with outdated furniture—which have been _smashed_ to pieces thanks to you—but I'm not that broke, I have money. I believe you saw me go to work yesterday, or has that managed to escape your brain, too?"

_Smooth, Bella. Way to release stress . . ._

"I wasn't saying you didn't," Tag simply responds calmly, and for some reason it just fuels my irritation even more.

"Well, it sure sounded like it."

"I'm sorry it sounded that way . . ." Tag now has a confused look on his face as he turns to me a little.

"Good. Because I do."

"I'm sure you do." He continues to look at me with that bewildered expression and then looks thoughtful out the windshield a second before turning to me again. "Listen, I get that you're angry–"

"I'm not angry," I retort—at least I didn't think I was until he said it. But I do believe a girl is in her right if she's been through what I just have.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry. I don't know what is going on but if I had known that this would've happened, I would have left your house as soon as I woke up yesterday. I did not mean to bring you into all of this—whatever _this_ is—and ruin your home. I'm really very sorry."

I sigh lightly as my bad conscience pops its ugly head out. How am I supposed to stay mad at him when he's being so apologetic? "I'm sorry, all of this has just been a little too much for me." And now _I'm_ apologizing . . . "Can't you just . . . talk or something to lighten the mood?"

"What do you wanna talk about?"

"I don't know . . . anything . . ." It's silent for a moment before Tag speaks again.

"You said you recognized the man from your work yesterday . . ."

"Yeah . . ?"

"How was he acting then?"

"You mean, if he was acting like a crazy maniac ready to kill me?" I quickly look over at him with an ironical smile. "No, he was like any other costumer."

"What other things was he looking at when he was in the store?"

"I don't know . . ?" That was a weird question, how am I supposed to know that?

"You didn't see if he was with anybody else?"

"No . . ."

"What were you doing when he approached you?" Tag continues his line of weird questions.

"Um, refilling shelves . . ." Where was he going with this?

"You weren't drawing any attention to yourself or . . ?"

"Oh, yeah! How stupid of me not to mention this before! I was doing a pole dance in the middle of the store while refilling the shelves, one of my many talents." I smile sarcastically at him and then roll my eyes when he just continues to look at me with the same serious face. "I was just gossiping with my friend. Where are you going with all of these questions?"

"What were you talking about?" Tag completely ignores my question as he just continues with his.

"Uh . . ." This Q'n'A game just got a little awkward. "You . . ."

"What did you say about me?" Tag asks as his brows starts to crease with concentration.

"Um, you know . . . just how I found you and stuff . . ."

"You think he could have overheard it?"

"Possibly . . ?" I shrug.

"Then it isn't hard to guess how he found us," Tag says knowingly.

"How?" I look at him confused. "I didn't say anything about that."

"You were wearing a shirt with your name on it. In that small town it probably only took a quick search on the Internet before he had your address and everything."

"Shit. I didn't think of that!" I say, feeling stupid that I wasn't the one to work that out.

"Of course you didn't. Just like neither of us thought we would be fleeing before even having breakfast, but whatta you know . . ." Tag gestures at the road ahead of us as we're now entering Port Angeles.

"This . . ." I shake my head a little with disbelief. "It's like taken out of a movie. These sorts of things don't happen in real life."

"It feels pretty real," Tag says in a manner that pushes all jokes aside.

"Yeah . . ." I nod.

We're silent again as I'm driving through the town until we come across a gas station.

"Leave the motor running," Tag advises me when I'm about to take the key out of the ignition. "That way we're able to leave fast if it becomes necessary."

"You think we're still being followed?" I look at the scene surrounding us, the paranoia quickly starting to grow in the pit of my stomach.

"No, I've been keeping a watchful eye as we drove. It's just for safety measure."

"Oh, okay." I calm down as I step out of the car and start filling the gas tank, making sure to keep an eye on everything around me. When the tank is full, I enter the small shop and am about to pay with my credit card, when suddenly the little doorbell rings, followed by running steps. My heart rate immediately starts to speed up at the sound, but I don't even have time to turn my head and look at what's happening before someone has a grip around my wrist, stopping me from swiping the card through the machine.

"Stop," Tag demands.

"Wh-what? Why?" I look at him confused. "What's going on?" I instantly start to look out the window for men with guns. There doesn't seem to be any as Tag pulls me over to a shelf with candy and starts talking to me in a low voice while the attendant is keeping a suspicious eye on us. And who can blame him? I have a fresh, bloody cut to my cheek and Tag is looking a little dodgy with the bruises and bandages on his face that's gotten the company of his three-day old stubbles. We probably don't look like the most trustworthy of people.

"If you pay with that credit card the buy can be traced."

"You don't think–" I start to say, furrowing my brows in disbelieve.

"I don't know." Tag cuts me off. "But is it worth taking the risk?"

"But . . . I don't have enough cash to pay . . . And we need to pay for the ferry going to Seattle, too. I have to use it . . ."

"Fuck," Tag curses quietly as he gets that look on his faces as if he's thinking. "How much does the ferry cost?"

"I don't know . . . like, twenty bucks." I shrug.

"Okay. If we have to use it, maybe it's best to withdraw a bigger amount, just as a precaution."

"Why? We're going straight to the police when we get to Seattle."

"Because the day has turned out like you expected it to?" Tag asks rhetorically. He had a point there. "If you aren't going to need it, you can just put it back. But right now, I think it's the wiser choice."

"Fine. How much?"

"I don't know? Five hundred?"

"Five–!" My eyes get big with incredulousness. "What exactly do you imagine I would need five hundred dollars for?" I say, lowering my voice after the initial shock.

"I don't know, I'm just being cautious."

"I think three hundred will more than do it, Tag." I can't help the unsettled look I give him as I step pass him, going back to the register to pay for the gas. What on earth does he think will happen that I'll need five hundred dollars for?

After another hour, and thankfully a little small talk, we are onboard the ferry to Seattle. As I sit inside the big waiting area, Tag is outside walking around with Pippin, who's tied to a belt I dug out of my bag as we don't have his leash with us. I might have suggested that he should take Pippin with him outside and walk around the ferry; maybe he would remember some sailor-things then—if indeed he is a sailor. That it's also a way for me to stay inside where it's warm and not walk Pippin myself . . . well, that's just an added bonus.

It's pretty boring though. After having washed the smeared blood off my cheek in the restroom, I'm just sitting around, staring numbly at the other passengers or a TV that's turn on to some morning news.

_". . . police investments continues in Seattle where fifty-seven year old Carlisle Cullen and his wife, Esme, were found murdered yesterday. Upon further investigation the police discovered the couples thirty-one year old twins, Jasper and Rosalie, murdered along with their respective spouses, Alice Cullen, and Emmett McCarty. The youngest son of the family is still missing." _They switch from the studio to footage of a huge house surrounded by yellow police tape where an elder rich-looking woman in her seventies is being interviewed.

_"None of us can believe how something like this could have happened without anyone hearing it—and on Thanksgiving of all days. They were good American citizens and such a nice family."_ The newscaster takes over again as footage of stretchers with body bags being carried out of the house is shown.

_"The police are still trying to determine whether the missing son is a victim of a possible kidnapping or the person behind the family massacre. No photos of any family members have been found inside the house, but neighbors describe him as tall and handsome." _The description pops up on the screen with computer effects._ "He has reddish-brown hair, bright eyes, and a structured face . . ."_

It feels like all blood rush from my head and I become momentarily deaf, unable to hear the last words as I stare vacantly at the TV. She just described Tag; there's no doubt in my mind. And, of course, Tag chooses that exact moment to come through the door to the waiting area. At first he looks at me with a small smile, giving a slight shrug and shake of the head as if to say that the walk around the ferry didn't awake any memories. But when he sees the look on my face the smile disappears, being replaced with a furrowed brow. He is obviously not being held hostage by some kidnappers, which means he most likely murdered his entire family just two days ago, and I had him stay in my house . . .

I feel like I might faint as I get out from the booth I'm sitting in and walk up to him.

"What's the matter?" Tag asks with concern but I don't answer, I just grab the belt with a happy Pippin out of his hand and start to walk away. "Hey . . ." Tag follows me and tries to stop me by grabbing a hold of my arm.

"Don't touch me!" I twist my arm out of his hold, not stopping as Tag continues to follow.

"What's the matter? . . . Did I do something? . . . Bella, what did I do?" He keeps asking questions but I don't answer. "Bella, stop." He grabs a hold of me again but lets go as I stop and turn to him.

"Why don't you check the news and find out."

"What?" Tag sounds confused but I've already turned away again and am walking toward the stairs leading down to the cars below—away from him. "What are you talking about?" Tag asks as he catches up with me.

"I'm talking about the fact that you are wanted for murdering your entire family!" I whisper aggressively, not haltering in my steps, but Tag stops dead.

"What . . ?"

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><p><strong>AN:** Oh . . . it keeps piling up . . . =D


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **No more excuses for updating this and not ATBUD. It is what it is and that's that. But to all of you extremely super fantastic I-don't-even-have-the-right-word-for-it gals who reviewed. I freaking love every one of you for taking the time to drop me a line. If I could, I would give you all some alone time in a broom cupboard with "Tag". ;)

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><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Closing and locking the car door behind me, I place Pippin on the passenger seat before cursing to myself as I lean my forehead on the steering wheel. I think I just set the world record for being the most stupid and naïve person alive. Thank God still alive. It all fitted perfectly together. The murders happened on Thanksgiving—I found him on Thanksgiving. He has cuts and bruises to his face—which probably came from his family trying to fight him off. I keep scolding myself with my head resting on the wheel when a knock suddenly sounds on the window next to me, making me jump up in surprise and I give a small yelp. As soon as I see that it's Tag outside the car, I slap my hands over the little knob for the lock sitting by the window.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Tag apologizes looking at my hands cramping the knob.

"Get away from me!"

"Why are you holding down the lock? It's not like I can open a car door with bobby pins . . ."

"Well, how should I know? I'm not the freak wanted for murder—and I'm calling the cops on you!" Why I didn't think of that right away I don't know. I quickly turn around to the backseat and start going through my bag, tossing out items in search of my phone. God, I packed a lot of unnecessary crap . . .

"Dammit!" I throw the bag aside when it's not there while Tag is outside, trying to get my attention back. Instead I quickly have the knots undone to his bundles and start searching through them, hoping he might have grabbed it. As I'm looking through the random things he's packed, I feel myself intake a massive breath of surprise. A cold, black handgun is staring up at me among the items. I pick it up slowly, surprised by how heavy it is.

"No, don't–" Tag starts to say something but I cut him off.

"Where did you get this from?"

"I took it from the guy."

"Were you planning on shooting me? Newsflash, Tag, I'm not a turkey! Turkey-season is over!"

"What? Turkey–?" Tag shakes his head in confusion. "No, I took it for protection! Better them killed than us. Please put it away." I continue to stare at him as Pippin is sniffing the items I've managed to toss around inside the car. "I'll stay out here if that makes you feel safer, okay?" Tag takes a couple of steps back. "Please put the gun away and be so kind to explain what you're talking about? Why would you say that I murdered my family?"

"Because you did! It was just on the news! The police are looking for you! God, you know just how to manipulate people don't you? 'Lets not go to the police 'til we're in Seattle'," I say in a mock voice. "Was that just a trick to get me to go with you to that slaughterhouse? Well guess what, fucker, I'm not going any further with you!"

"I was not manipulating you, I was trying to save you!" Tag's voice rises a little with irritation. "And how do you know that the police are looking for me? I don't even know who 'me' is!"

"Because they are looking for someone who's tall and handsome with reddish-brown hair, has bright eyes and a structured face. Hello!" I point to him to point out that he obviously fit the description perfectly. "And! You show up out of nowhere, looking like you've been in a fight on the same night that the murders happened and claim you can't remember anything. A little suspicious, or better, convenient if you ask me."

Tag rubs a hand over his face. "Okay, yes, it's weird that they're looking for someone matching my description–"

"You think?"

"–but just for a moment, could you possibly imagine that I'm not the one that killed those people? That perhaps the guy who busted through your door did and that he came to finish the job?" Tag simply looks at me, waiting for me to answer but I stay silent, biting my bottom lip and feeling like I might have overreacted just a little when he puts it like that. "How do we even know that those murders have anything to do with me? It could just be a total coincident. I don't know and I can't tell you what's true and what isn't because I don't remember anything! But I swear to you, when we get to Seattle we'll go to the police. You can even have that gun pointed at me the whole ride there if it makes you feel any better. But if I was planning on using it on you, do you really think I would have wrapped it up in a blanket and stuff it onto the backseat?" I don't say anything as I simply look at him, contemplating what he's saying. "I don't know how to make you trust me . . . What do I have to do to make you trust me?"

"I don't know. I don't know how to trust you when all of these weird things are happening around you and you don't even know who you are."

Tag moves up close to the car again, speaking through the window. "Bella, I swear to you, I'm _not_ going to hurt you. We will go to the police when we get to Seattle and then you won't have to see me ever again. I just need you to take me there, please."

Looking into his pleading eyes I feel myself surrender, I even start to feel an indication of sympathy toward him as I realize that he quite possibly has just lost his entire family without knowing.

"Fine." I sigh.

We sit in the car the remaining time of the ferry ride as I explain what the news reports told as Tag listens. When the ferry finally docks, Tag is behind the wheel as I'm tired of driving—and—if needed be, I can quickly jump out of the moving car in total gangster mode. I'll probably die doing it, but at least I tried.

"So, you think I'm handsome?" Tag asks with a smile, looking at me as we come off the ferry.

"What?" I try not to let his words affect me but I can feel that I'm turning red in the face with embarrassment, because hell yes I do!

"You said I fit the description and they are looking for a tall handsome man. So you must think I'm tall and handsome." Tag continues to smile.

"Don't flatter yourself." No way am I going to admit to it.

After a short while we both realize that we have no idea where the nearest police department is and we stop at a drugstore where I ask for directions. Continuing toward the city I try not to think about shootings, and murders, and just relax, as I'm looking absentmindedly out of the window, softly singing along to a song on the radio when Tag shuts it off.

"Hey!"

Tag holds up a hand to make me stay quiet as he's looking in the rearview mirror, then checking the outside mirror, looking concentrated.

"What's the matter?" I ask, looking in the mirror on my side.

"There's two cars that's been following us for a while and I don't like the way they've been circling behind us."

"You're shitting me, right?"

"Afraid not."

"But, it could just be coincidental that they're going in the same direction as us," I try to reason.

"No, their behavior doesn't seem coincidental."

We're both watching the two vehicles as we get closer to the police station and as we're almost there, one of the cars suddenly speed up, over taking us. Two of the three men sitting in it, doesn't shy away for looking intensely back at us as they pass.

"Okay, I really don't like this," I say, feeling a bit scared.

"Me neither," Tag says, looking at the car still behind us in the rearview mirror but otherwise calm—of course.

When we get to the police, Tag suddenly speeds up instead of slowing down.

"Wait! What are you doing?" I look back as the police station quickly becomes distant.

"Did you not see the two fellows outside the building that stood with the small group of men? They were the same as those in the car that followed us. If we'd stop, we'd be dead. And the other car is trying to catch up now." Tag says with another glance in the rearview mirror. "Are you okay with me driving a little rough?"

"Just get us away from them," I answer, scared as I quickly grab Pippin, holding on to him as Tag escalate the engine, quickly going around at least ten cars and still pushes the speed limit further.

Its total madness as Tag maneuvers around the cars with precision, trying to lose the car still following but they're keeping up with us. I'm trying to stay quiet as I hold on to the door handle to keep myself from bumping from side to side and just pray that we'll get through this in one piece. But Pippin starts barking as he can sense that I feel uneasy with the situation.

"Shut the damn dog up," Tag demands as the sharp sound is bouncing around the small space. My jaw drops from his rude remark but don't say anything as I try to calm Pippin down.

Several times Tag has to slam the breaks, making the car screech as other idiots on the road cuts him off, but he quickly has it back at full speed as he detects a new loophole for us to pass through. At one point it looks like we might have lost them, but then the car that overtook us shows up right behind us.

"Shit," Tag curses silently as he quickly orient the road. "Hold on." He suddenly makes a sharp turn to the left; it feels like the tires on the right side lifts off the road as he rounds the corner, making me scream out. "You okay?"

"Yeah-yeah, I'm fine," I assure him quickly. Any thoughts that I might have had earlier about jumping the car, forget about that . . . I'm not that big of an idiot.

We're going down smaller streets now. Other drivers are blaring their horns at us in protest as we blast through the traffic but, surprisingly enough, we haven't seen a single sign of a police car or anything. We're turning left and right, driving through small friendly looking neighborhoods and busy high streets. Green, yellow or red traffic lights . . . Tag just race through them all like he doesn't have a care in the world. I, on the other hand, am completely freaked out but don't say anything, afraid that if I do he might shift his attention to me, and lord knows he needs to keep it on the road. He has the car turn corners at a deadly rate and then race down another street; it feels like we're flying over even the smallest bumps in the road. When we finally manage to loose both vehicles we've entered a more rough looking neighborhood and Tag quickly has the car hidden in a desolated alley.

"Get out of the car," Tag orders as he gets out himself. He has me running as he points in the direction of an old vacant factory where all the windows are smashed and simple graffiti tags decorate the dirty bricks. We climb through one of the smashed windows and then continue up to the next floor where we can watch the street to see if we've lost our pursuers.

I feel out of breath as Tag is trying to stay flat against the wall, not really having to catch his breath himself as he keeps and eye on the end of the road.

"What do we do? We can't stay here forever and now they know we're in the city!"

"–And they probably have someone standing guard outside every police station by now."

"This is a complete nightmare!"

"We have to lose the car. Maybe we can find someone in the neighborhood that wants to swap car with us," Tag suggests, still focused on the view out of the window.

"I don't wanna swap cars, I like my car. Couldn't we just . . . swap the license plate or something? Paint it black with spray cans, people does that all the time."

"That will take hours."

"So could finding someone who wants to swap cars—which isn't an option. I'd rather steal a car then."

"Perhaps we could do that." Tag looks thoughtful.

"Oh my God, I was totally kidding!"

"But maybe it's not such a bad idea." Tag continues to look thoughtful.

"I can't believe you. Tag! We're not stealing a car! I got out all that money in Port Angeles; we can use some of that to disguise the car. We'll get some spray cans and just paint the damn thing over."

"So you'd rather ruin the car with a bad paintjob than swap it?" Tag finally looks at me.

"Well, yes. The paint I can do over. I can't just get my car back."

"Okay. It's your car."

"Yes it is." And like that, it's decided.

Tag stays behind with Pippin as we both agree that he is the one at a bigger risk of being recognized. But he is to collect the newspapers we'll need to cover up the windows while I head back out on the street. After asking where to go, I get two boxes of black spray cans and some painters tape. The entire time I'm being careful that no one is following me. But I almost drop everything when I get back to the alley. Tag, Pippin, and the car are gone.

"Tag!" I call out loud with desperation quickly building up inside me, but then he appears behind a brick wall further down the alley.

"In here," he calls. He's moved the car into a dirty yard with junk lying around and Pippin is jumping with joy up the window inside the car when he sees me. "Listen, I know we made this plan, but I was thinking that even though we disguise the car they'll probably recognize me when we get to the police. So instead, if we go find some place to stay—a motel or something—and wait there until it gets dark, maybe they've tired out of waiting by then. It'll give us more time to paint the car and, I don't know about you, but I'm getting pretty hungry.

"There's just one little flaw in that plan, Tag. We'll still be driving around town in the same screaming red car!"

"Aha." Tag holds up a finger as he moves to the front of the car.

"You swap the license plates? Where did you get them? And where's mine?"

"I swapped them with an old rusty car. And don't ask me to reverse it, it wasn't easy getting them off in the first place."

"No, I guess it was my own idea. And your plan sound okay, I'm actually hungry myself."

xXx

I'm behind the wheel again, singing along to the radio, trying to act all cool and normal—and definitely not like I have a guy hiding at the bottom of the car. And if Pippin would just stop looking down at him constantly, it would probably be a lot more sleek.

I manage to find a sleazy looking motel where the odds of there being fewer people staying are bigger. It's actually kind of freaky how much it reminds me of the motel in _Psycho_. The woman by the front desk looks up when we enter, a lit cigarette between her fingers.

"How much for a room?" Tag asks, not waiting for her to open her mouth.

"$40 a day, but staying with a dog is gonna cost you extra." She points to Pippin in my arms with her cigarette.

"How much more?" I ask, holding him closer to me.

"10 bucks."

"Okay, and could we have some food brought to the room, please," Tag requests.

"We don't have catering but there's a diner three blocks from here."

"Excuse us a minute," I drag Tag away from the counter and speak in a low voice. "No, we're not staying here. She's totally robbing us. And do you know how much I just paid for paint and tape? $97! With that and the ferry and the gas money . . ."

"I know it's a lot of money but please just pay her, I'll find a way to repay you, I promise." With an uncertain glance up at him and then the woman behind the counter, I agree with a sigh. But it's not with good faith.

We get the key to the last room. It's nothing special, just a queen bed, a TV and a tiny bathroom that smells moldy—a total rip off.

"I'll go get some food if you prepare the car for the paintjob."

"Deal," Tag agrees as he comes in with our stuff. "I parked it in the back so that we can work without being seen," he informs as he gives me back my keys.

When I get back from the diner with Pippin, Tag is watching the news from the bottom of the bed. "You fixed the car?"

"I know that house," Tag says without really acknowledging my present.

"What house?" I question before I recognize the footage he's watching, it's the same as on the ferry and I feel the dread wash over me. Of course he recognizes the house.

Before I have time to think of what I'm doing, I've dropped the bag with food and coffee, grabbed Pippin, and is sprinting the fuck out of there. I'm running as fast as I can to get away from him and turn a corner when suddenly the side of a rusty old van is opened and I'm grabbed from the side, forced into it as a bag is pulled over my head, Pippin torn out of my arms and the door slides close again as the van drives off at high speed, making me tumble over.

"No!"

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><p><strong>AN:** I hope you got the turkey-joke. You know . . . the Cullens were killed on Thanksgiving and you kill turkeys for Thanksgiving . . . so Bella doesn't want to end up as a "turkey" . . . get it? =D


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **I apologize for taking this long with the chapter; I didn't mean to leave you guys hanging for so long! But I wasn't happy with the way it came out at first, so I started over—amongst other things.

A little shout out to eli-rose, brandie722, TD69, mewsa, Snappher, Cynders Forces, 1Rbooks, and Ghfhd for reviewing. I hope you're still with me. =)

The last chapter ended with Bella being dragged into a van. This takes up right where we left off.

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><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

"No!" I scream again as I can feel more than one sets of hands holding me down, pinning my arms onto my back with violence. "OW! Shit! Let go of me, you fuckers!" I try to wrestle around to make it harder for them as they begin to tie my hands and legs with what sounds and feel like long strips of duct tape. I scream out again but then hear a click and something hard and pointy is pressed to the side of my head.

"Shut the fuck up and lie still, or I'll blow your fucking brains out!"

"Why are you doing this? I'm a complete nobody," I question in a breathy voice, trying to hide the fact that I'm freaking out as I lie still with the gun pointed at my head.

"I said . . . shut up!" With the last words, the guy takes a hard blow to my side, the pain is so intense it takes my breath away—and not in a good way!

_Fucking ass-hat!_

I try to breathe but it's too painful, making me cough, which only intensify the pain even more. Lying at the bottom of the van, we continue through the city before we stop and the door is opened.

"Move," someone orders and drags me out by my arm. I can't really orient where I am and tumble to the ground when the van suddenly disappears from under me.

"OW!" I cry out as my knees hit the hard ground. I can feel the blood starting to tickle down my left leg almost immediately. "Watch it, will you?"

"Shut up and get up!" The man, holding my arm, pulls me upward. I try to do as he says but it's impossible with my legs tied together.

"I can't, you limp dick." I snap back with an attitude. I should be scared out of my mind—and I am, for all I know these men are going to kill me within the hour—but I'm simply fed up with this. I haven't done anything, and yet, I've been shot at, I've had someone break into my house and completely smash it, I've been in _two_ car chases, and now I've been kidnapped. And it's barely noon!

I hear the guy say something in a strange foreign language I don't understand, and the next second I'm lifted from the ground. More is spoken in the foreign tongue as I sense we're moving inside where I'm roughly placed in a hard chair, making pain shoot up my tailbone.

"Shit, watch it, will you? What do you want with me anyway? I haven't done anything. I'm not who you–"

"Shut up!" I'm struck hard across the side of my face, making my head swing to the side from the force and I feel a snap in my neck.

"OW!" Tears spring to my eyes from the blow; it feels like my cheek is numbed with pain as I start to cry silently from it.

"Don't you fucking move," a man threatens as I hear someone else talk in the background.

"Get Phobos and Deimos here, I think we got her."

I don't know how much time passes as I just sit there with the bag over my head, listening to feet shuffling around me—I think there's about four or five of them. The suspense seems unbearable as seconds feels like several minutes. A few times one of them steps up close to me, talking in that strange language, and each time I feel myself coward away in the chair. After some time I hear the sound of a door opening and someone new comes in. The men who captured me talk amongst each other in the foreign language, and then suddenly, the bag is lifted off my head.

I blink a couple of times in the light and try to shake my hair out of my face to see properly, but it's sticking to my tears. It's a small wooden and freezing cold shed with just one tiny and dirty window. There are four of them standing in front of me, all carrying weapons and none of them doing a thing to try and hide their identity. Two of them looks like foreigners but the other two looks like clean-cut American guys—guns aside, all of them somewhere in their twenties and thirties.

"If you so much as scream, we'll blow a hole through your head. Deimos." One of them then calls over his shoulder and two new men appears behind the others. One of them is pushing the other in a wheelchair and when they come into view, I intake a deep breath of surprise.

It's him . . .

His lower leg is still in an unnatural angle, and his hand is now wrapped up in a thick bandage where blood has seeped through to the surface. His eyes have been graced with two black circles from his broken nose. He's the guy from back at home, the one that Tag fought just a few hours ago.

"You recognize her?" the one that seems to be in charge asks, and the guy in the wheelchair nods.

"What do you want with me? I haven't done anything, you bastard!" I shout at the psycho in the wheelchair.

"Shut up!" Someone I haven't notice comes up from behind and pull my head back roughly by the top of my hair, making it sting before letting me go.

"Shit," I curse quietly. "I hope it fucking hurts!" I shout back at the banged up guy, trying to spit at him but it just hits the concrete floor with a small and pathetic splat. The next thing I know someone takes another blow across my cheek, this time with the handle of his rifle.

"Shit! Fuck . . ." The tears weld up in my eyes, as I taste blood. It's sickening, almost making me gag as I spit again, trying to rid of it.

"You'll speak when asked!" the one in charge shouts at me.

"Go fuck a sheep," I spew at him and the man that just hit me lifts his rifle again, about to strike as I cry out for him to stop. "No! I'll be quiet, just don't hurt me!" I beg and he lowers the rifle again.

"Good," Mr. Boss-Man says, sounding satisfied that I'll cooperate. "Tell me what you know," he requests as he steps toward me.

I look at him blankly.

_Know? What should I know?_

"Answer me!" he shouts when I remain quiet, making me flinch away from him.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What do you know?" he simply asks again, this time louder.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I repeat in the same flat voice.

"You will tell me what you know, or this will get very ugly," the man threatens.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply again as I don't have any other answer.

He starts giving angry order in that strange language and the chair that I'm sitting in is roughly pulled backwards across the floor, almost making me fall out, as I wasn't expecting it. I watch with fear as one of them swing a thin rope over a beam, right in the middle of the floor where I just sat, a noose tied to its end.

"Do you know what enhanced interrogation techniques are?" I remain quiet as the one in charge comes closer to me but I try to keep my eyes straight in front of me, not looking at anything in particular and staying quiet. "You've ever heard of Cold Cell . . ? Long Time Standing . . ? Water Boarding . . ?" I look up at him with scared eyes at the last term, knowing full well what that is. "Ah . . . that rings a bell?" He smiles unpleasantly. "I would start talking if I were you."

"But I don't know–" I try to reason when he suddenly grabs me around my throat, cutting off my airway as he shouts into my face, showering me with his spit.

"TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!" He lets go of me and I try to breathe despite my coughs, the man still up in my face. "You look just like the other sluts, do you work for them? Huh? DO YOU WORK FOR THEM?"

"Who? I don't know what you're talking about."

He says some more mumbo jumbo to the others then, and I'm pulled out of the chair and brought to the dangling rope.

"No . . ." I cry softly, recognizing it as the rope that the "Daymoss" dude in the wheelchair bought in the store. "Please . . ."

"I hope you appreciate the symbolism," the man pulling the rope over my head says with malice.

"Please, I don't know anything. I swear, I don't know anything," I beg through my scared sobs as the rope is tighten around my neck but loose enough to let me breathe. "Please . . . I don't know anything," I keep repeating.

One of the men pulls the rope, making me rise to my toes and I almost fall over, unable to keep my balance because my feet still are tied together, as are my hands behind my back. The rope burns into the skin on my throat as one of the other men quickly grabs me by my arms to stop me from falling, ordering someone to cut my legs loose. I'm able to balance on my tiptoes but I'm still struggling to breathe, only able to take small shallow breaths, almost hyperventilating, which makes my head spin slightly.

"This is what's call Long Time Standing. Or at least it's our version of it." Mr. Boss-Man steps in front of me again. "And believe you me, honey, we have all the time in the world. Now, I just showed you some of my kindness—you're still able to breathe . . ." He walks around me ones as I'm dangling hopelessly there. "And as I just did you this huge favor, not letting you choke to death, wouldn't you say you owe _me_ a favor in return? Huh? Look at me!" He grabs my face in a painful grip, forcing my eyes on his. For some reason it isn't until now that I register their clear blue color. "What do you know? And if you repeat those same words one more time, I'll snap one of your pretty little fingers right off."

"But I don't know anything," I speak through my sobs. "Please. I swear; I'm not lying. I haven't done anything."

"YOU _ARE_ LYING! WHERE'S HE HIDING?" The Boss-Man cracks his handgun, pressing it to the side of my head.

"NO! I don't know!" I cry, knowing he means Tag. "I swear; I ran away from him! I don't know!" I speak as loud as I can with desperation when the continuing sound of a car horn suddenly starts up outside. The men all become uneasy at the commotion, checking out the window as the one in chart shouts some commands at the others and three of them disappear out the door.

"You better start talking, NOW! Or I'll make short work of you!" He has the gun back at my head when suddenly shots are fired outside and he starts shouting some orders at the last two guys with weapons. One of them runs out to help the others while the last one shut the door, standing guard.

More shots ring out followed by the sound of tires shrieking and then what sounds like an explosion, the sound seems deafening.

"Phobos . . ." The guy by the door speaks hesitantly as he looks questioningly at Mr. Boss-Man. It's clear that the Foe-Fellows are stressed by the situation, not knowing what's going on outside as they start talking agitated with each other in the strange language again. All the while, I'm simply trying to stay up on my toes so I don't strangle myself in the rope.

A knock sounds at the door then. We all look in its direction as the guy standing guard simply starts to fire a gazillion holes in it, not even bothering to check if it's one of their own men out there. The silence is ringing in my ears as his gun run out of bullets. The next moment we all look to the other side as the glass in the small window smashes and a large stone rolls over the floor.

Mr. Boss-Man, or Phobos as he's apparently called, has his gun raised as he slowly moves toward the window, and before he has time to react, a single shot is fired. Phobos cry out, shooting a stray shot himself that penetrates a jerry can under the window before he drops his weapon to the ground. The gasoline starts floating out of the can, making a puddle around it on the dirty floor.

Phobos curses as I try to shift my position to see what's happening—not the easiest thing to do when you're trying not to strangle yourself—and see that he's been hit in the shoulder where a dark bloodstain spreads quickly on his shirt.

"Pick it up, you asshole! I can't use my arm!" Phobos yells at the guard, forsaking to communicate in their own language.

As the man moves forward, another shot is fired and the guy tumbles to the ground in an outcry of pain, grabbing his knee with both hands. In that moment a tiny hope springs to life inside me. It has to be Tag, somehow, he must have manage to follow me here—it's the only explanation to all this. The hope, however, is quickly put out as Phobos looks to me. His eyes have a mad look in them as he turns to wheelchair-guy. He moves him over next to me with difficulty, and starts to loosen my rope from the nail it's tied to. For a short second I actually think he's going to let me down, but then he gives the rope a hard tug and my feet are lifted above the floor as my air is cut off.

I panic immediately, unable to breathe as the shed starts to disappear before my eyes—my vision slowly vanishing in black and gray fog-like spots. I faintly hear Phobos tell Deimos to hold the rope tight, quickly followed by and even weaker sound of something that is smashed and then everything goes completely silent and pitch black.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **Grrrr . . . My life sucks! - big time. I've had, and still have, a gazillion essays and school papers to hand in which is stealing all my time, and in the middle of all this, water is spilled onto my computer . . . so that was completely awesome . . . not . . . I also recently lost a grandparent, and to top it off, I'm constantly getting sick. Yay for me. And let me tell you, this chapter has been a complete nightmare! I've been ready to throw in the towel SO many times. I've rewritten it like a hundred times and I'm still not completely satisfied with it. But, this is it. I'm posting it now and NOT looking back. I want to get on with the story. Le Sigh.

Eli-rose, TD69, MissMartha, 1Rbooks, RobstenLuvParis, Cynders Forces and jadedghost22, I haven't forgotten you guys reviewed the last chapter, and I so loved reading each of them, so thank you! =)

And you . . . yes you who keep sending "reviews" under weird combinations of letters. I'm glad you like the story, but please stop sending me those _Please update soon-_reviews. It's not going to make me write any faster, my education and family comes first.

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><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

"Bella . . . Come on, wake up . . . Open your eyes . . . Bella, I need you to open your eyes . . . Stay with me, Bella . . ."

It feels like someone is shaking me, and I do want to open my eyes but for some reason I can't.

"Hang on for me, Bella . . . Are you with me? . . . Open your eyes, Bella."

My mouth and throat feels so dry, like sandpaper, no words are able to escape but a sore, barely audible moan before I sink back into the darkness . . .

xXx

It feels like something small and wet is licking my face as I'm slowly returning to the surface. My head is pounding and my body feels too heavy to even move an inch. I try to open my eyes, groaning in discomfort when a piercing white and foggy light hits me in the face. I press them tightly shut again. I'm thirsty and my mouth feels completely dry, so I try to swallow it down. Boy, was that stupid. My throat is burning with pain, making me cough, which only makes it worse. I limply lift my hand to my throat, hissing as the touch burns with a sting.

_God I feel like shit!_

I lay still a bit longer with my eyes closed, not fully conscious yet and hoping to sink back into the darkness, when I sense something is moving around me.

It takes me exactly one second before I shoot up from where I'm lying like a bat out of hell, any pain and feeling of being tired gone. I scramble away as fast as I can until my back hits a wall and is pressed completely flat against it. Small memories of what has happened is coming back to me, making my heart pound with fright. I rub my eyes, fighting to clear my vision from its haze. There, standing in front of me is . . . Pippin . . . He is standing on the bed, waggling his tale back and forth with such force his entire rear is swinging from side to side from his excitement.

"Pip." My voice is strangled and hoarse as tears fill my eyes out of relief. I thought for sure I would never see him again. I pick him up, hugging his tiny body to me as he tries to lick my face again. It takes me a moment before I recognize that we're in the motel room that Tag and I rented.

_How on earth did I get back here?_

Moving off the bed with slow movements, I peek through the drawn curtains. Everything outside seems normal, except, there's no sign of Tag.

A panic thought crosses my mind. Did he sacrifice himself for my freedom? I can feel my heart picking up as the thought is making me panic. They are for sure going to kill him. Who knows if they haven't already done it? But just as I'm about to seriously loose it, I notice a wrapped up sandwich with a small post-it note on top, lying on the nightstand.

_Out back, working on the car. –Tag_

Calming down, I fling the note back down on the small table with irritation. "Fucking asshole," I mumble, trying to clear my throat from the raspy and sandpaper-like feeling. Of course he had to make me panic. Couldn't he at least have made, like, a huge ass sign that one couldn't have missed instead of this stupid, tiny note?

Ignoring the sandwich, I drop Pippin back onto the bed as a yawn overpowers me.

_Shit!_

I quickly hold a hand to my jaw, trying to stop the yawn as it hurts like hell in my jaws.

"Ow." It feels like my head has been used as a punching bag. It's sore and swollen.

Groaning slightly, I go to the bathroom to check out my reflection in the mirror. I notice a washcloth by the sink that looks like it's been used to clean off blood. Probably mine . . . I finally focus on my face in the small rusty mirror above the sink. My heart starts hammering in my chest, my breath quickening. I look horrible. Red and blue swollen bruises decorate my skin. My lip is split and a nasty looking scrape is going around my neck. Vague memories of what happen are coming back to me. I remember the men grabbing me, and being inside a small freezing cold shack. But I can't really put any faces on either of them; it's just a blur. I remember being hit, but not how I got the scrape on my neck.

I need to get some answers. I need to know what happened and how I got back here, alive . . .

I dig around in my huge bag of things, pulling out stupid stuff like high heels before I find my dad's old Forks Police hoodie. It's way to big for me, but I always feel safe in it, and I'm able to hide my bruise up face with the hood pulled over my head. I grab my sneakers that Tag has removed from my feet, sensing the irony that three days ago it was me who did this for him as I tie the lace.

I leave Pippin in the room and go out to find Tag. He's behind the building, almost done with covering up different parts of my car with newspapers, in preparation for the paintjob.

"Hey." I call for his attention, wrapping my arms around my body to protect it from the cold weather.

"Hey." Tag gets up from where he'd been kneeling with a look of concern. "You're awake." He speaks in a low and gentle voice. "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone tried to liquidate me." My voice is still raspy and I try to clear my throat again.

"Yeah . . . I'm sorry about that." Tag looks apologetic, his eyebrows curling inwards. "I got to you as fast as I could."

"Yeah." I nod, groaning and quickly stop when the headache starts to throb even worse, holding a hand to my forehead. "Thanks for getting me out of there." It feels a little awkward thanking him, knowing that I was the one who ran away because I was sure he'd killed his entire family, and that I would be next. I'll probably be next, still, but it won't be by the hands of Tag, I know that now.

"You should go back inside and rest. Have you eaten the sandwich I left you?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat something, Bella. You haven't had anything since last night."

"I will, when I'm hungry."

Tag looks like he wants to argue with me, but keeps from doing so. "Fine. At least go back inside and rest."

"No. I need to know what happened, Tag. I ran away . . . How did you find me? How did you get me out of there?"

"I followed you."

"But you were on foot. I was dragged into a car."

"Well, I sort of hijacked a cab . . ."

xXx

Having grabbed Pippin, as he stands alone on the sidewalk after being torn from Bella's arms, I quickly jump onto the backseat of a taxi parked by the curb.

"I'm on a break dude– . . ." he starts to speak with his mouth full of a sandwich he's eating, but I immediately cut him off.

"And I really don't care. See that gray van? Follow it. Keep a distance but _don't_ lose it."

"Listen, boy– . . ."

"Keep your hands off the alarm button and go. Now!" I've grabbed the key to the motel, pressing it into the side of his neck, right at the artery while closing off his air in a stranglehold with my other hand from around his seat. He drops his sandwich as he tries to pull my arm away in vain. Realizing he doesn't stand a chance, he moves the car onto the road. I let go of his throat to let him breathe, but still have the key pressed to his neck. I need to stay in control of the situation; if the guy sets off the alarm and has us surrounded by five of his buddies, I'll lose sight of the van, and I can't risk that.

"You don't have to threaten me, man. I'm going, aren't I?" His voice shows clear signs of fright but I'm surprisingly unaffected by it as we drive down the streets. Not that I enjoy doing this to him, but desperate times calls for desperate measures.

"Shut up," I demand and press the key a little harder into his neck to show how serious I am. "Just make sure not to lose the van. If it means running a red light, you better do it if you know what's good for you."

We end up at a neglected part of a harbor. Rundown graffiti-painted buildings and old rusty containers are surrounded by debris of all sorts of junk. Signs of old fires and destructions made by vandals and other lowlifes are everywhere.

The van stops next to a tiny shed made from old dirty wood that looks like it's going to collapse any second, with a rusty tin roof. I order the driver to stop a little away from it, keeping us out of sight, but still with the van in our view.

"Listen, I– . . ."

"Shut up," I sneer through my teeth, pressing the key harder against his neck again as I keep my eyes peeled on the scene in front of us. There are five men with her, four of them carrying arms. One of them drags her violently out of the van, making her tumble to the ground as they've tied her up and pulled a bag over her head.

"Wait, is that . . . ? Wha– . . . is that why we've been following them? To save your girlfriend?"

"Something like that," I answer, only half-listening to his words as I watch one of the men pick her up, putting her over his shoulder before carrying her into the shed.

"We need to call the police." The cabdriver starts to reach out for his phone, but before he grabs it, my hand flies out. I have his hand twisted around in a painful grip. "Argh!" He cries out in pain, falling down in his seat to lessen the pressure on his wrist as Pippin gives a low growl.

"Don't touch it."

"Okay-okay! Just let go of my hand. Please," he begs, sounding like he's about to start crying.

"Put your hands on the wheel where I can see them," I order as I let go, watching on as the last man by the van glances around the place, before backing into the shed and closes the door behind them.

"What are you going to do?" the cab guy asks, sounding nervous. "I don't want to get into this mess. If you're like some drug dealer caught up in a gang– . . ."

Without a word I've grabbed him by the back of his head, efficiently shutting him up as I slam him face first into the steering wheel, knocking the guy out and putting an end to his constant yapping.

"I said: shut up." I can't think with him talking and if the plan, which is starting to form in my head, is going to work, I'll need his taxi to get us out of here. I can't risk him taking off while I'm getting Bella out.

I order Pippin to sit before moving out of the car, popping the trunk where I find the usual tools that come with a car under the carpet. Getting the pieces I'll need, I grab the driver from the front seat and drag his fat ass to the trunk. The guy is heavy but I manage to hoist him into the trunk, placing a strip of duct tape that I've found in the trunk, over his mouth and around his ankles and wrist, shutting him inside. I know someone like Bella would be more affected by the things I've just done to an innocent man, but it just doesn't seem to have any affect on me. I feel more like a machine with a goal, and I'm doing what is necessary for the plan to work—now that I don't have Bella to argue against me . . .

Getting back into the car, I look through his glove compartment to see if there's any useful item. There's a pepper spray, which I grab, thinking that the driver is pretty thick for keeping it in there. He could just as easily have risked it being used on him in a robbery. I pack up the rest of his lunch; we can use something to eat ourselves, but the half eaten sandwich I hand to Pippin before shutting him inside the car, taking the key.

With the tools and pepper spray in hand, I cautiously approach the shed, keeping low. I need to get an overview of the area. Find out if there're any more people inside the shed than the ones from the van. How the shed is constructed, and what my options are depending on it. Moving along the junk piles, I come around to the backside of the shed. There is a tiny and dirty little window here, about eight by eight inches in size. It doesn't give a great view of what is going on in there, but I can see the men from the van walking around Bella like vultures as she sits in their middle, still hooded.

Satisfied that they aren't hurting her at the moment, I silently sneak around to the van. I easily get into the front seat, as the idiots haven't locked the doors. After my attempt of starting it by pounding a screwdriver into the ignition fails, I remove the panel of the steering column with the screwdriver, to get to the wires underneath. I carefully pick the right ones and rip them out, biting into the ends to strip them. I'm about to twist their ends together to hotwire the van, when the sound of an approaching car reaches my ears.

With hasty movements I place the panel back over my work to hide it, and gather the tools before running for cover behind a large pile of garbage.

The car stops next to the shed and a man gets out, opening the trunk and pulling out a collapsible wheelchair. As I watch him help the scumbag I beat up earlier out of the car and place him in it, I start to notice the different objects in the debris. I pick up an old glass bottle that once contained alcohol, turning it over in my hand as inspiration hits me. Another man get out of the car then, pushing the guy in the wheelchair in front of him as they enter the shed. Looking around to make sure he hasn't been seen, the first guy gets back into the car and drives off.

I start looking for other items I need for my new plan to work, when I suddenly hear Bella shout profanities at the men in the shed.

_At least she hasn't lost her spunk . . ._

It worries me a little to listen to the yelling that is coming from the shed, making me move with a more hasty motion in my search, still trying to keep quiet so that they won't be alerted to my presence. But to hear her yell is actually kind of comforting at the same time. It lets me know that she's still alive and that I haven't run out of time yet.

I carefully move back to the van, jamming the screwdriver into the fill cap. With the fuel tank exposed I sneak a dirty old hose into it, and start sucking. I almost start coughing and gagging on the burning taste, holding my thumb over the end of the hose to spit out the bad taste without losing the pressure. As soon as the gasoline hit my lips I hold the bottle to the hose, filling it up and dry my mouth in my sleeves. I hope I never have to do that again, I almost feel high. When the bottle is half full, I start to soak my removed sock in the gasoline, planning to use them as a fuse. I feel a little relieved that no one's come out yet to catch me in action.

I move quickly as I hide the bottle where I left an old iron pipe. I bring it with me as I start working on the wires under the steering wheel again; trying to locate which wires is connected to the car horn. I'm lucky, after making sure my other preparations are ready, I connect the wires and the car starts up at my fourth attempt. The horn starts blaring in one long, loud, and annoying tone as I quickly move behind the door to the shed, the pepper spray and iron pipe held ready like a bat.

As some of the men exit the shed, moving to the van, it feels like the pace gets accelerated. As the last guy shut the door, I spray him in the eyes and swing the pipe to his head. Before he falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes, I've grab his gun out of his hand and fire two shots, feeling the kick of the gun with each one. The nearest guy cries out in pain, wounded in the shoulder and chest as he falls backwards into the open van, dropping his gun. I don't know how I have time to observe all this as the one left standing is firing shots at me, making me run for cover behind the van as one of the bullets fly right pass my ear. Safely behind the van I drop to the ground, spotting the guy as he carefully moves along the van. I aimed with precision, shooting him in both ankles and he tumbles to the ground in a cry of pain. It isn't until now that I realize the amount of damage the bullets have done to the guys. They are using hollow points. I have to get Bella out of there. Now.

I get up, running around the van when bullets come flying at me—one of them ribbing my shirt as I barely managed to hide behind the van again, cursing quietly. A fourth guy must have come out of the shed while I shot the other guy in the ankles; it's the only explanation to why I didn't hear him.

I take a couple of deep breath, my heart still completely calm despite the tense situation, and listening intensely. It's hard to hear anything over the noise from the horn, but the idiot accidently kick my iron pipe, telling me his position compared to me. I grab a hold of the pepper spray, holding it next to the handgun as I breathe deeply, waiting for the right moment. I know I have to make the first move. I'm the one standing with the risk of them ending Bella in a very nasty way, and he knows this.

I gather my concentration and move quickly, pressing down on the spray as I roll with my shoulder around the corner of the van. The guy fires a shot at me, missing as the pepper spray hits his eyes and I hit him with my last shot in the center of his chest. He falls heavily back against the van, dropping his gun as he falls to the ground dead, leaving a smeared strip of blood and ripped-off flesh down its side.

I quickly pick up his gun, firing shots at the first guy and then the others, making sure they are out cold. Taking all of their weapons and hiding them next to the Molotov cocktail, I shoved all of the men into the back of the van, shutting the door. I then remove one of the big stones I've place on both the breaks and the accelerator, quickly moving out of the way as the tires shrieks when the van speeds toward the harbor's edge. As I hear the loud crash of the van hitting the water, I've already moved back to the door of the shed. I hold a gun in one hand and the pepper spray in the other, knocking hard on the door and then quickly back away, only merely avoiding getting hit by the volley of bullets that comes flying through the thin wood.

I run backwards along the side of the shed, my gun ready to be fired any moment as I get around to the backside where the small window is. I get behind a low pile of the trash; grabbing another stone I've prepared, and throw it. It hits spot on—smashing through the window—and I immediately take aim. One of the men moves toward the window with his gun pointed in my direction, but the next second I've pierced his shoulder with a bullet. I can hear him cry out as he shoots a shot and then drop the heavy weapon on the floor, unable to hold it up with his injured arm.

I'm not sure where his bullet went, but I'm certain I haven't been shot and I take aim once again as another guy moves inside the shed. I hit this one in the knee and he falls to the ground. I can't see the guy in the wheelchair, but I know he must still be in there. I don't know for sure if he has a gun, too, so I cautiously get up and move back to where the rest of the weapons and the Molotov are laying. I'm going to get Bella out of there right now. I check the other guns for how many bullets there are left in them, noticing that not all of them are hollow points, which gives me hope. My fingers are working with speed, as if this is the most natural thing in the world to me. I go for a handgun with a good weight for me to work with. I get the gasoline-soaked socks lit, using an old, almost empty, lighter. With the gun at the ready and the burning Molotov, I quickly and carefully move to the door where I put down my firebomb, saving it for my exit. It only takes half a second to realize that my time has run out thanks to the many holes that's been shot through the door. I can see Bella dangling from the ceiling with that goddamn rope around her neck, being choked to death.

I kick the door in forcefully, the wood splintering as it flies open. The guy shot in the knee reaches out for his shotgun, but I've already fired a bullet at him, and he collapses against the floor completely still. The sound of the first shot is still echoing around the shed as I fire a second shot at the guy in the wheelchair, making him lose the rope he's holding, and Bella starts falling limply to the ground. I quickly run to catch her. She's completely limp in my arm, her head rolling heavily to her chest. Holding on to her with one arm, I have the gun pointed at the two last guys, shifting back and forth between them.

"Do _not _move," I warn, seeing the one by the window trying to grab his gun as I lay Bella on the ground, losing the rope from her neck and make sure I can feel a pulse.

I sigh with relief. She's alive.

Getting back up, I point my gun at the blond haired guy hit in the shoulder, moving over and grabbing the sawed-off shotgun next to the dead guy on the floor, pointing it at the beat-up dude in the wheelchair.

"Who are you?" The blond guy looks over at the one in the wheelchair. "Tell me who the fuck you are!" I shout and the two of them start talking to each other in a foreign language, Middle Eastern I think, but I can't understand it. I fire a hole through the wall; right next the blond guy's head. "Last chance. Who are you?" The guy simply looks at me with a dead stare, no sign of answering. "Right. Move him over to you," I order." Waving the handgun for him to move the wheelchair-guy. "Now!"

"I can't– OW!" I've fired a shot, stopping him in what he was saying as it takes off the tip of his ear, the blood running down his neck immediately.

"I said, move!"

The guy scrambles off the ground, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair and slowly pushes it back to where he was sitting by the window. I take the time to quickly grab his gun, stuffing it down the back of my pants. I notice there's an old penetrated jerry can there, a dark puddle of gasoline already formed on the dirty floor around it.

_Perfect._

"Pour a circle around you with that," I order as I've moved back from where the men are gathered. The blond guy looks irritated at me for a second, but then do as he's told. "Don't you fucking move," I warn as I keep the handgun pointing at them. I place the shotgun on the ground outside the shed, and then pick up Bella, hoisting her over my shoulder and carefully back out of the shed with her. Still with Bella over my shoulder I bend low, letting go of the handgun as I quickly grab the Molotov cocktail, careful not to drop Bella.

The eyes of the two guys grows big when they see the burning fuse of the glass bottle, starting to protest but it's already too late for them. I know it's either them or us, and that decision isn't hard. I throw the bottle into the shed and an uproar of flames erupts as it smashes to the ground.

I can hear them starting to yell and scream as I quickly rearrange Bella in my arms, running her to the taxi. I unlock the doors and carefully place her in the passenger seat, fastening the seatbelt around her. I run back to collect the rest of the weapons, dropping them all on the backseat before getting in and speeds us out on the road.

"Bella?" I shake her gently, trying to wake her up. "Come on, wake up." I drive at a normal speed now as we're going through the city, trying to avoid attracting any attention. "Open your eyes . . . Bella, I need you to open your eyes." Her eyes flutter slightly. She hears me—that's good. "Stay with me, Bella . . ."


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **I just want to reassure y'all about something that Cynders Forces, brought to my attention . . . I'm not stopping/giving up on any of my stories. It may take me forever and a day to update, but I'm _not_ stopping. It won't be fair to you, or me. Besides, I hate when writers do that—upload a story and then never finishes it—then don't even upload it to begin with, you know? So updates are coming, however slow they may be.

So you can probably imagine how happy it makes me that I'm already ready with another chapter! But this little bad boy basically wrote itself. Yay for me!

But how annoying is it that FF-net don't allow links on the profile anymore? And the whole thing with the long-as-bip links—which you then have to copy/paste in order to view—is just even more annoying. So, I've decided to make a blog for this fic, too. That way, it's all gathered under just one long-as-bip link:

http:/gofish-twific**(**.**)**blogspot**(**.**)**com/

–Remove the **( )**.

I've posted pics of the infamous Seattle house on it.

Once again I much thank Cynders Forces, 1Rbooks, MissMartha, eli-rose, TD69, and also cbmorefie for your kind reviews. You rock!

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><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

"Okay." I slowly nod as I've heard Tag tell his story. "But what about the cabdriver?"

"I pushed the alarm button before I unlocked the trunk and left."

"So he's okay?"

"Yeah."

I nod again, stroking Pippin who is resting in my lap. I'm sitting on the bed in our motel room as Tag has pulled up a chair next to me. "Good."

"Speaking of something that is good, it would also be good if you would try and eat something."

"I told you, I'm not hungry."

"But you need the energy."

"Have _you_ eaten anything?"

"Yeah, I took what hadn't been soaked in coffee from the stuff you bought."

"Oh . . . Fine." With a sigh I reach out for the sandwich laying on the nightstand.

"Do you remember if they said anything noteworthy while they had you?"

"Not really. They spoke that mumbo jumbo language." I shrug as I unwrap the sandwich.

"They didn't say anything you recognized? City names or . . ."

"Wait, I remember something. They called two of them . . . what was it . . . Fobo and Daymos?" I shake my head lightly, it doesn't sound right. "Something like that . . ."

"You mean Phobos and Deimos?" Tag looks concentrated at me, as I'm about to bite into the sandwich.

"Sure. Ow! Shit." I clap a hand to my jaw. I forgot how sore I am, and gaping over the sandwich doesn't really do any good.

"Are you okay?"

"No. My jaw is completely busted," I complain, still holding my hand to it.

"Yeah, I'm really sorry. You look like you've been taking a beating."

"I fucking hate those idiots," I express, picking a small bite off the bread and chew it slowly.

"But it's interesting with the names . . ."

"Why? They sound ridiculous."

"It's from Greek mythology. They don't appear as actual characters, but supposedly they were twin brothers and the sons of Aphrodite and Ares."

"Thank you for the history lesson, but why is that interesting?"

"Because Phobos is the personification of horror, and Deimos the personification of terror. They are clearly trying to say something by using those names." Tag looks thoughtful.

"That they are scary motherfuckers?" I suggest, popping another small bite in my mouth.

Tag smiles at me. "Something like that. But they obviously don't want to reveal their real names, using codenames. Which means that this is something they've been planning. But why . . . ?"

"Couldn't tell ya. But, I mean . . . no offends, but it kind of makes sense."

"What makes sense?" Tag looks at me with a confused expression.

"They're scary motherfuckers . . . you're a scary motherfucker. You could probably go totally ninja on somebody's ass without it even affecting you the slightest. And from what you told me, and what I remember, they didn't seem that different. So, whatever is going on, my guess is you royally pissed them off somehow."

"Hmm . . ." Tag folds his hands under his chin to rests his head, looking thoughtful as I carefully eat the sandwich, watching him. "We couldn't have been working together. I'd been able to understand them," he mumbles, mostly to himself before he becomes quiet, deep in thoughts.

xXx

"Who's stupid idea was this anyway?" I complain as I throw another empty can to the ground. At first I thought it was funny to see the red of the car disappear underneath the black, but after an hour in this freezing weather and an index finger that's completely black at the tip, I'm not finding it so funny anymore.

"I told you. You should go inside and rest. You've been through some pretty uncomfortable stuff."

"I'd rather get the car done so that we can get out of here, all right?" Tag sighs deeply, clearly annoyed that I won't just do what he asks me to, and continues to paint the car. "Besides, if it weren't for you, none of this would have happen."

"Excuse me?" He stops working as he looks at me with an incredulous look. "I wasn't the one pulling the idiotic move and ran out of here. You're lucky I came after you, or you might still be with those guys." Tag sounds irritated as he speaks, and the fact that he felt it necessary to point out my stupidity makes me aggravated in return.

"Are you calling me an idiot?" I ask, not hiding my irritation. Tag doesn't answer as he starts painting the car again, just gives me a little shrug of his shoulder. "You know what? Forget it. I saved your ass from freezing to death in the forest and in return _my_ ass is now on the line. So I guess I _am_ an idiot." I turn on my heel and start to head back around the building when Tag's voice stops me.

"No, Bella. I'm sorry. I'm really trying my best to get you safely out of this. But it's a little hard when I don't know who or why these people are after us. I just need you to start trusting me because I'm trying, I really am."

_Hit me where it hurts, why don't you._

"I do trust you," I answer as I turn around to face him, but Tag just looks at me with skepticism. "I trust you _now_, okay? I know it couldn't have been an easy job getting me out–"

"No, it wasn't," he mumbles with a low voice.

"–so I'm sorry too, all right? Let's just put it behind us and get out of here."

"Sure."

xXx

"Hey, that news report is on again." It's a couple of hours later and I'm laying on the bed, relaxing and shifting through the channels on the TV. Tag had basically demanded that I'd go inside when my teeth started chattering from the cold, and at that point I was more than willing to obey. He only just came back in himself, after finishing the car.

"Any new information?" he asks as he comes out of the bathroom, shirtless I might add, as he's washing off the soil from the paintjob.

_Damn you for being so handsome._

"Uh . . ." Mildly distracted I focus back on the TV. "I don't know."

He sits down at the foot end, watching the report, and then turns to me when it's finished, petting Pippin as he comes up to him. "I've been thinking about something . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Well, so far, the only clue I've found to who I am is that house. And I know that I promised you we'd go to the police . . ."

"But?" I look at him suspiciously.

"I want to ask you if maybe we can go and check it out first?"

I can't believe him. "What's really going on, Tag? You don't wanna go to the police, do you?"

"No, it's not that. But that house . . . it's my only clue. If you didn't know who you were, but knew that there was some connection between you and a place, wouldn't you want to check it out?"

I take a little time, looking him in the eye. I know the answer right away, but the thought of going to that slaughterhouse creeps me out. "Yeah, I would." I sigh heavily. "Fine."

xXx

Don't ask me how he knew the address, but we're here. Sitting in the dark with all my things stuffed onto the backseat, Tag has the car turned off. We're both looking up at this big beautiful house in the rich folks' Queen Anne neighborhood. My own home looks like a playhouse compared to this place. It is three stories high with balconies on each side, and perfectly trimmed hedges. The yellow police tape that shines from time to time as the clouds above drifts pass the moon, makes it look creepy though.

"I definitely know this house."

"Okay, so what now?" I ask, looking around to check if anyone is watching us. Luckily the house is placed with its entrance down a dead-end street, so no one is likely to see us.

"We go in side."

"Yeah," I say with a laugh, thinking he is joking, but the look he gives me clearly tells me he isn't. "No, Tag. No way I'm going in there. It's breaking and entering!"

"Well, I am. You can choose to stay, but you'll be like a sitting duck out here."

"But what if someone comes while we're in there?"

"Hopefully no one will, but if it becomes necessary, I have one of the handguns." He holds up the black semi-automatic pistol he took from wheelchair-guy, and checks its chamber. "So, are you coming?"

"Wait." I grab his arm, stopping him from opening the car door. "What exactly are we looking for?"

"Clues."

"I know that." I sigh, rolling my eyes. "I mean more specifically. I'd like it if we can just go in and get out. You know, like, pew pew." I swing my piggy flashlight—which Tag packed when we rushed out of my house—quickly back and forth to my sound effect, emphasizing how fast I'd like us to move.

"Until we're in the house, I can't tell you what I'm looking for." He opens the car door and gets out.

"Wait-wait-wait!" I quickly remove Pippin from my lap and hurry out after him. "Don't you dare leave me," I demand as I close Pippin inside the car and run up to Tag, gluing myself to his side as we head for the stairs leading up to the front door.

He holds the police tape up for me to dive under, before following himself. We both glance around the place as we reach the front door and I turn on the flashlight. We both spot the code panel sitting in the wall next to the big wooden door immediately. Giving it a fleeting look Tag goes for the handle. It's locked.

"Remember any codes?" I look at Tag expectantly, but he's busy looking up at the building.

"Um . . ."

"Oh well, at least we tried." I turn around and start heading down the steps, honestly glad I'm not going inside.

"Wait, Seattle."

"Uh." I turn around, looking at him with a confused expression. "Okay, I don't know if you're, like, getting amnesia strokes or something where everything in your brain just gets wiped out, but it's Bella." I point to my chest.

"No. I mean Seattle. _Sea_-attle." Tag looks at me like he expects me to follow his thoughts, but I'm completely blank.

"Sorry, I don't really _sea_ where you're going with this."

"My tattoo . . . it has a sea theme . . . _sea_-attle," Tag repeats like that should clear things out for me. Obviously the look on my face, tells him otherwise. "It's codes. The entire tattoo is a code." He speaks low but eagerly as he rolls up his sleeve. "When I studied it at your house I found a bunch of numbers hidden everywhere in it. We just have to find the right ones to enter." He looks excitedly at me, expecting me to join in on his excitement of his little breakthrough. But if he's right, it means going into the slaughterhouse, which to me, is the exact opposite of exhilarating.

"Cool. That's great." I give him a little fake smile.

"Hold up the flashlight so I can see," Tag instructs as he starts studying his tattoo.

Holding up the light, I keep an eye out on the neighborhood, tripping a little on the spot, waiting for him to figure it out.

"Okay, I'm not sure, but I think these number on the seashells might be the ones."

"You think so, or is something in the back of your mind telling you so? For all we know the numbers on your arm and this house have absolutely nothing to do with each other."

"I don't know, but lets see."

The display lights up in a bluish-white color as Tag starts pushing in the numbers. But when he presses down the 'OK' button, the light turns red.

"Hmm, maybe backwards." He starts over, pushing in the combination in reverse before pressing 'OK'. Red again.

"It was a qualified guess, Tag, but maybe I'm right about the tattoo and the house not being connected," I interject as I'm really starting to freeze, standing out here in the dark and cold night air.

"No . . . I'm sure this has something to do with each other. Maybe it's the numbers from this group." Tag turns his arm over, starting to push in the number from another set of seashells. He hits 'OK' and a clicking sound sounds, as the light in the display turns green. "After you . . ." Tag gives me a satisfied smile as he opens the door to the dark house with no problem, gesturing with a hand for me to enter.

I cast him a nervous glance before focusing the flashlight into the darkness. This place really gives me the chills. "No." I wrap my arm around his as I press myself to his side. "Together."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **A new chapter for all you party people. And to Cynders Forces, TD69, cbmorefie, eli-rose, EndlessSugar and 1Rbooks . . . I love all you crazy Chicas for reviewing. You're awesome! =D

Lets find out what "Tag" is actually called, shall we?

**N.B.** There have been a little confusion between me and my Twillighted Beta, so the chapter has been updated since first posting - it's now in present tense (as it should always have been).

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><p><strong>Chapter 9<strong>

"Hand me the flashlight," Tag says, closing the door behind us and we move further into the wide foyer as he searches the place with the beam of light. He shines it on a big staircase in front of us before continuing. I suddenly make a little jerk of fright as a beam flickers back at us. It takes me a second before I realize it's the lights reflection coming off a pair of French double doors.

"Relax."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Nothing-phases-me," I hiss back.

There are stickers with arrows and numbers, and small black spots that I assume is dusted fingerprints, everywhere. A shiver runs down my spine as I follow the beam with my eyes. One thing is watching this stuff on TV-shows, it is a whole other ordeal actually standing in the middle of a real crime scene.

"You know what I think this is?" For some reason I whisper, as I stay close to Tag's side.

"What?"

"I think this is some rich-kid kidnapping gone horribly wrong."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment of my boyish looks?" Tag ask, a joking smile clearly on his face by the sound of his voice.

"Don't get all panty-dropper with me." I give him an irritated look, speaking normally as he's being annoying again. "You're not that cute, you know."

"But I am cute."

"Were we looking for clues or what?" I ignore his statement, feeling myself blush because _hell yeah_ he's cute, but hell no will I ever admit that.

Tag smiles at me before he heads for the double doors. "Come on."

I quickly follow him as he push the glass doors open and scan the room with the flashlight.

"This is so creepy," I murmur.

"Are you calling my house creepy?"

"Yes. If someone has been murdered in your home, it's by definition creepy."

We carefully enter the big living room with a sofa group on one side, a large piano to the other. Behind the sofa a couple of dressers have their drawers ripped out and the contents spread all over the floor and sofa. Tag immediately heads for some papers laying there and starts looking through them while I stay by the doors, frozen to the spot.

"Anything?"

"No . . . it's just manuals and brochures and stuff." He gets up and looks through the contents of drawers still hanging halfway out of the dresser. Not finding anything, he shines the light at a door next to him. "Are you coming?" he asks, shining the light back over at me.

I glance nervously at the darkness behind me and then quickly make my way toward him. In the darkness of the room, I can't really orient myself and slam straight into an armchair, falling to the floor like a total klutz.

"Shit."

"Are you okay?" Tag asks, not making the most elegant effort to hide his amusement over my clumsy ass as he comes over to me, shining the light down at were I'm lying.

"Yeah." I reach my hand out with annoyance and he pulls me up.

"Stay close to me from now on, okay?"

"Shut up. I couldn't see the chair."

"So stay close to me."

Rolling my eyes, I follow him through the door, it leads out to a large kitchen. Tag shines the flashlight around. It looks like the last thing going on in here was the preparations for Thanksgiving dinner. Seeing the pots and pans still sitting on the stove awakens my own hunger as my stomach makes a growling noise.

"Seriously?" Tag turns a little to me.

"What? I've only had a single sandwich all day."

"Right. Okay, we'll stop at some drive-through afterwards." He continues into the kitchen, but stops when he spots something on the floor further ahead.

"Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God." I quickly hide behind his back. "Is that blood?" Tag doesn't answer as he walks forward with me clinging to him. "I don't wanna see if it's blood."

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes closed."

"Oh my God! That's it, I'm out of here." I turn around on the spot, ready to head back out, but then change my mind. Despite the situation being totally fucked up, I feel safer being with Tag and turns to him again. "Tag, I'm not staying another minute in this house."

"Nothing is going to happen, it's only blood."

"Only-!"

"Just get a grip, Bella, take a calming breath. We'll be out of here in no time. Okay?"

I breathe in deeply, exhaling slowly. "Just don't show me the blood."

"I'm not gonna. But watch your step." Tag strides over the puddle of blood on the tiled floor.

"Oh no-no-no-no. I'm not jumping over it."

"Then stay here."

"No!" I objecte again with a hissing whisper. "Just . . ." I sigh with resignation. "Turn the light so I can see." As Tag shines the light on the floor, I can see the huge pool of dried blood, making me shiver. "I can't believe you're making me do this." With a hard swallow and a deep breath, I make a small jump over it. But, of course, like the clumsy idiot we've already established I am, I land on Tag's foot and starts to fall backwards, shrieking as I'm afraid I'll fall down on the pool.

"Shhh!" Tag quickly catches me by wrapping his arms around me, pulling my body to his and I come flush with his face. "Quiet!" he whispers.

"Sorry." I blink a couple of times in shock, my heart hammering away in my chest as I can feel his warm breath on my skin. "Thanks for not letting me fall."

"Sure." Tag let go of me as I find my balance.

We're facing a family room that's connected directly with the kitchen now. The back wall is covered with bookshelves, but almost all the books are ripped out and shattered all over the floor. And . . .

"Oh goodie, more blood." I quickly flee my eyes to the ceiling, away from the second blacken red pool.

"Stay here." Tag goes around the group of couches, searching for . . . well, something. "Nope, let's continue."

We leave the kitchen out another door, finding another to our immediate right. Tag opens it, shines the light down a dark stairway, and is about to head down when I stop him.

"No. We're not going into the basement."

"Bella, I need to check the whole place out."

I bite my lip a little, forgetting that it's been split. I quickly let it go as it stings. "Can't . . . can't we check the other floors first, please?"

I guess he senses my discomfort as he agrees. We glance into a large dining room behind another pair of French double doors. It makes me a little sad to see the set table, waiting for a family that'll never be gathered around it again. That's when I realize that the two pools of blood we've already seen are from two of Tag's family members. I can't help feeling sorry for him as I glance up at him, knowing only too well how it feels to lose a love one. But Tag simply looks concentrated and doesn't really seem affected the slightest.

_Perhaps he's in some kind of shock or maybe denial._

"It's just silverware in here." He walks down the hall and checks behind the next door, which turns out to be a small bathroom. But behind the door across from it is a fancy looking office. Tag heads straight for a pile of papers laying in front of several file holders that's been split open with violence, leaving me in the doorway.

"See anything?"

"No . . . it seems to be all company work papers. Apparently, they had a shipping company."

"You mean your dad had a shipping company."

"Uh." Tag shines the light over at me, as he looks up from the papers. "Yeah, I guess so."

"You still don't remember anything?"

"No. I mean these are addressed to a Carlisle Cullen. That kind of rang a bell when I saw the news report. But there's nothing here that points me in any direction to who I am."

"What if it, like, it never comes back to you?"

"It has to come back."

"Yeah but, I mean, what if it doesn't?"

"It's gonna come back."

"But-"

"Bella! It's gonna come back to me, okay?" Tag snaps.

I nod in silence, understanding he needs to keep telling himself that in order to keep up hope, or something. Getting up, he passes closely by me in the doorway and we catch each other's eyes before I look down, sensing the irritation that seems to be radiating off him.

I follow him silently as he lead us up to the next level. We glance into the first room where another large pool of blood decorates the carpet. The room clearly belonged to a guy, so Tag takes his time, looking around. However, I am completely fine to stay in the doorway, focusing on anything but the dark bloodstain.

"Two people were killed in here," Tag informs me as he joins me again. "There's more blood and splattered brain mass in the bathroom."

"I _really_ did not need to know that," I complain as a chill runs down my back.

"Okay." Tag simply shrugs before he heads straight for the next door. In there, we see a huge puddle of blood that looks like two people had been shot right next to each other.

"God." I press a hand to my forehead, feeling sick. "This is horrifying. What kind of people just walks from room to room, killing people?" Any kind of hunger I might have felt before is completely vanished.

Tag enters the room without saying a word. It looks like a girls bedroom so he, thankfully, leave it after a quick glance around the place. At the other end of the dark hall there's a guest room and a huge master bedroom. I follow Tag inside as there is no sign of people having been killed in here. We enter a big walk-in closet connected with a bathroom. There seems to be nothing in here so we start to leave when Tag suddenly stops dead.

"Wait a minute." He glances back into the closet before walking straight over to the rack by the end wall. He pulls the clothes roughly to the side by the corner.

"What is it?" I walk up to him, curious as to what he's found as he gets down on his knee.

"A hidden safe."

My excitement spring to life immediately as I spot a small door in the wall by the corner. "Any idea what the code might be?"

"I'm pretty sure I do. The numbers that worked on the front door were from these seashells here." Tag points the flashlight onto his bared and tattooed arm. "But the one that didn't work were from these." He turns his arm over. "One of the seashells in this group is open and has a pearl sitting inside."

"A treasure that it is keeping safe . . ." I finish for him as I figure where he's going.

"Exactly." Tag smiles up at me. "Hold the light, please." I hold my breath, feeling my heart pound as he pushes in the code and then pulls the handle. It opens willingly. "Hand me the flashlight."

I hand it over quickly and Tag pulls out a couple of passports from the safe. My heart starts hammering in my chest with anticipation as he opens the first one. It has a picture of a lovely woman named Esme. Tag droppes it by his side and openes the next. A blondish silver-foxed man named Carlisle. I feel a little disappointed when neither is his, but then he pulls out another pile of passports. The first two belonges to a beautiful blonde woman named Rosalie and a buff looking male named Emmett. The next one is a pretty woman named Mary Alice, and then a handsome blond guy named Jasper. It isn't until now that I realize I'm still holding my breath and give a heavy sigh, feeling hopeless. I'm about to say something when he pulls out an additional passport with a set of keys on top. My heart starts pounding again, this has to be his, or we're back to square one. He opens it and a gush of air leave me. It's his.

"Edward Anthony Cullen. My name is Edward . . . I'm twenty-eight," he informs me as he studies the information in the passport.

"Well, Edward . . . I wish I could say that it's been a pleasure meeting you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p><strong>AN: **Hello. . . I'm back . . . =) Yes, it's been forever and a day since I've updated. -And though I am sorry about that, I can't apologize for it. I have been stressed due to my school for the past year and a half. And everything got much (MUCH!) worst when the painful reality of my youngest brother's death shocked us all. He was just 23. . . I tried to soldier on, but it got so bad that I've had to drop out of school simply to try and keep my head above water and take care of myself. It's been about 6 months since I dropped out (I'm starting up again after the summer holidays), and it isn't until now that the energy and longing to continue writing has stepped in. It's been a really tough time for me, and it still is, but I'm fighting to get better.

/Maria

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><p><strong>Chapter 10<strong>

"What?" Tag- I mean, Edward asks as he can sense that I keep glancing at him.

"Well, this is just. . . wrong." I stop as we are heading up the next set of stairs, waving through the thick bundle of cash in my hand. I've never held so much money before, but he insisted. I now have more than enough to cover the damages to my house - and then some. It's nothing, however, to the amount that was actually in the safe. My jaw literally dropped when he pulled bundle after bundle of twenties, fifties and hundred dollar bills out of the safe. The rest is in the sports bag hanging over Edward's shoulder, along with everything else from the safe. "You just emptied some dead people's safe. It's just. . . wrong."

"They were my parents. If they're dead it means that everything in this house is legally mine."

"But there're, like, processes and stuff you have to go through before you can take it. When my dad died, I actually had to move out for a while because the house was legally his, even though I lived there. So, you know-"

"Do you want your money back or not?" Edward cuts me off, looking down at me from a few steps up.

"Of course I do, but this feels really wrong. This is dead people's money. . .."

"It's what I have. It's what I can get you." Edward continues to go up the stairs, forcing me to follow, as he is the one holding the flashlight.

There is no sign of blood on the last floor - thank God - but several bullets holes cover the walls, and a French door leading out to a rooftop terrace is completely smashed, as if someone (I'm guessing Edward) basically ran through it. There is an empty desk surrounded by scattered papers on the floor and a computer has clearly been taken, the cords left dangling behind. Edward looks through the papers before moving into the only bedroom on this floor. Judging by the lack of blood and the fact that he is the only one still alive from his family, this must be his.

At first there really isn't any leads, but then Edward sees something reflecting the light of the flashlight at the floor by the bed, and picks it up.

"Whoa, is that-?" He's holding a set of keys, but not just any keys. "Jesus Christ, are you rich or what?" I say in awe as he lets the light shine on a key for a freaking Lamborghini, the golden bull reflecting the light. "I gotta say, I like your style, dude."

"Stop calling me dude, I have a name now."

"Oh, so the blood and splattered brain mass on the wall doesn't really bother you, but call you dude and you're suddenly mister sensitive? You are an enigma, dude." Edward cast me an irritated look as I smile broadly at him. "Relax, it was a joke." I roll my eyes and follow him as he moves on to a bathroom with a walk-in-closet by the staircase. Edward unzips the sports bag, and starts stuffing different items of clothes in it.

"Uh, what are you doing?" I look on with confusion, a wrinkle to my forehead.

"No offense to your father, but I prefer to wear some clothes of my own."

"But can't that wait? We're going to the police. Not to say anything, but I don't think you'll be in need of new clothes right away. They'll probably keep you for questioning," I quickly add as I see the look Edward gives me. He simply shrugs as he close the bag again, and we head back down the stairs. "Well, that was a rather pleasant visit if you're into stuff like bullet holes and such. I have to say that the pools of blood were an added bonus." I try to joke, feeling relieved at leaving as I walk toward the front door, but Edward turns to the left, down the hall.

"Where are you going?" he asks in a low voice, shining the flashlight over at me.

"Where are _you_ going?"

"We still have the basement left."

"But. . ." I point my thumb over my shoulder at the front door. I had very happily forgotten about the basement, and apparently it's clear by the look on my face that I do not wish to go down there. "Do you have to? I mean, you already have a lot of leads. . .."

"Yes, I have to. I'm going down there, coming or not?"

"Okay, Edward, listen. . .." I'm trying to win some time as I struggle to come up with a good reason for us to just leave. Because I know my arguments that this is in the top ten of the scariest shit I've ever experience, won't convince him. "The door is _right_ there." I point back at the front door again, with a pleading look.

"Okay," Edward sighs, and for a short-lived second I actually believe he is giving in. "Stay here or come with me. I'm going to the basement." Yeah, pretty dumb of me to think so.

Whining a little, I follow him and he opens the door to the black hole leading down to deathtraps, bodies, and lurking eyes waiting to jump us. I just know it.

I'm clinging to Edward again as we descend the narrow stairway; my heart hammering painfully against my ribcage with fear. Down here, the small light from the flashlight seems to be swallowed by the complete darkness. We're standing in a narrow hallway with a door to our left, but instead, Edward follows the hall as it turns in a ninety-degree angle with me right in his heels. More doors are set along the walls, leading to a home gym, guestroom, laundry room and a storage room filled with gardening tools and what not.

The last door on our right, however, won't open. Another code panel is keeping the door locked, and it's clear that we're not the only ones who've been trying to get in. Crowbar marks is everywhere on the doorframe and prints of people trying to kick the door open is littering it. Edward tries the code for the front door with no luck, then in reverse. Still nothing. It feels like I'm waiting forever while Edward tries all different types of numbers. None of them works.

"Hmm," Edward shines the light around the door again. "It looks like there's a panel up here." He starts feeling around the top of the doorway.

"It's just the doorframe. . ."

"No. . . because then it would go around the sides, and it doesn't."

"What do I know? I'm not a construction worker." I shrug, feeling impatient to just get out of here.

"Let's find some tools."

"Uh, yeah, because the ones coming before us were clearly able to break open the door."

"Bella." Edward gives me an annoyed look. "Just let me try."

"Fine."

He walks into the storage, returning with a spade and a crowbar.

"What are you planning on doing with those?" I question as he hands me the flashlight to light for him.

"Lift the door of its hinges."

"Uhm, the door is still locked, Ta- Edward." I correct myself with a headshake as he tries to jam the spade under the door, making a _lot_ of noise. "Not to mention that people might hear you!" I speak louder to be heard over the clanging of the spade against the concrete floor.

He stops and looks at me, sighing a little, I'm assuming out of agreement, as he drops the tools before holding out his hand for the flashlight.

"Fine. There was another door down here, maybe there are some tools I can use."

Handing over the light, I follow him back down the narrow hallway. Behind the last door is a huge oil-smelling space. Edward sweeps the flashlight around the place and the light shines back at us with a flash. He immediately returns the beam, lighting up not one, but three cars. And it's not just any cars. There's a shining Black Mercedes parked next to a sexy red BMW and next to that, a sleek grey Aston Martin.

The first thing that crosses my mind is that these people sure knows how to buy cars, but instead I, very elegantly, choose to say: "Where's the Lamb'?" And I actually feel a little disappointed that it's not here.

"I don't know," Edward simply answers as he moves on to look for tools.

"If we find the keys to one of these lovely ladies, could we ride it over to the police station instead of the rabbit?"

"I don't think so."

"But I've never had a go in such a fancy car."

"We're trying not to draw attention to ourselves. How will it look if we start dragging everything out of your car and into one of these before taking off? Don't you think someone will notice? Besides, I thought losing your car was a big deal to you," Edward says as he finds some tools and moves back toward the door.

"Yeah, but that was before I got a look at these babies."

"It's not going to happen, Bella," Edward says as he holds the door open for me.

Edward carefully starts to unscrew the front of the code panel. I'm holding the light for him to see. He carefully looks over the wires underneath it as he considers which to pull.

"Hold the light still."

"Sorry." I shift the flashlight to my other hand, watching him as he contemplates his options.

Edward holds a nipper to the wire he decides on, hesitates for a second and. . ..

All hell breaks loose.

Edward jumps back, yanking me back by my arm as a set of thick steel grilles come flying out of the top panel, the sound of it hitting the concrete floor deafen by the ringing alarm that is so loud, it feels like my eardrums are about to explode.

"RUN!"

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><p><strong>AN:** To Jeppe. I miss you more than words can express, and though I know you are at a better place, a piece of you will always remain in my heart.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer with all the usual stuff . . . I don't own Twilight or anything related to it, I'm just having fun. No harm or disrespect intended.**

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><p>AN: To those who have been with me since I started this forever ago, thank you so much for still being with me. It really means a lot. And if you're new to my story, hello (waves excitedly)! Thank you for giving it (and me) a shot.

eli-rose, 1Rbooks,EndlessSugar, jerseyhalliwell & RobLuvParis, thank you so much for the kind words and leaving reviews, I really appreciate you doing so. =)

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><p><strong>Chapter 11<strong>

I look out the rear window. The panic and adrenaline are still rushing through me as Edward drives at a high speed getting us out of there. I can hear the sirens in the distance, but I feel myself calming down a little as the gap between that awful place and us becomes farther. He suddenly pulls the car down a deserted street and parks.

"Just until the coast is clear," he answers my questioning look.

Edward keeps an eye in the wing mirror as I try to get my head around everything, hugging Pippin to me while the radio plays music that I don't really pay any attention to.

"How do you feel?" I finally ask, glancing over at him.

"What do you mean?" he inquires without removing his gaze from the mirror.

"I mean . . . are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be? Are you?" He finally gives me a short glance before focusing on the view in the mirror again.

"No." He looks back at me again. I can see that he is sorry, but before he gets a chance to say anything, I continue. "And because you just found out that the people who's been killed _is_ your family."

"It's a shame that they're dead but, honestly, I don't really remember them. I can't get a clear idea of them."

"Oh." I'm silence for a moment longer. "At least you know who you are."

"Technically, I only know my name. It doesn't answer who I am."

"Well . . . yeah, okay, that's true–"

"I don't know." He stops my stuttering attempt to say something wise—thank God. "I guess I was hoping something more would happen when I learned my name . . . that it would trigger some memories."

"And . . . ?"

"There's nothing."

"I'm sorry." And I truly am.

After a little while longer, Edward decides it's safe to start moving again. The song on the radio ends and a new one takes its place. I'm pleasantly surprised when I recognize the strings and turn the volume up a little, softly singing along. I'm not paying attention as we go, I just gaze out the window not really registering anything as the streetlight sweeps pass and I softly scratch Pippin behind the ear. Suddenly, Edward slams on the breaks. I nearly drop Pippin as I'm caught by my seatbelt and slung forward by the force.

"Shit!" Pippin starts barking at the sudden commotion. "Pippin, shut up! Why did you do that?" I ask angrily, stopping myself from hitting Edward on the arm—though I really want to. "Pippin!" I grab a hold around his snout to stop his yapping and he immediately tries to remove my hand with his little paw.

"What was that you just sang?"

"What?" I look at him completely confused. I have no idea what he is talking about. "Pippin, stop." I turn around, dropping him gently onto the backseat where he gives me an annoyed bark. "No." I try to discipline him with a raised finger, but he just barks at me again before laying down.

"Before . . . you sang something about a city." Edward has an urgent look in his eyes, getting back my attention, but I'm drawing a complete blank.

"Um . . ." I close my eyes to concentrate and hum the music to the song as I try to recall the lyrics. "And the embers never fade, in my city by the lake, the place-" I stop mid-sentence when Edward surprises me by tearing the sleeve from his shirt by the shoulder, ruining it. "What are you doing?"

"City by the lake." He turns his bared shoulder to me, pointing to the top of his tattoo.

"What?" I ask again, not getting it. All I can see is an old pirate-like ship with sails.

"Here." He points it out for me. "City by the lake." And that's when I see the small writing along the side of the ship. "What is the city by the lake?"

"Shouldn't I be asking that question?" I look at him with a crooked brow.

"Who sings the song?" Edward ignores my question.

"Um, _Smashing Pumpkins_."

"Is there any relation between them and a city by a lake?" He sounds urgent as he speaks.

Thinking it over, I answer hesitantly, "They're from Chicago?"

Edward turns around, pulling the sports bag that he filled in the house from the backseat, and starts looking through it.

"What's going on?" I ask. Looking on with bewilderment as he is pulling items of clothes out haphazardly, probably looking very much like I did this morning.

"Nothing in this tattoo is random," he starts to explain, looking eagerly at me. "When this ship is called 'City by the Lake', I need to find out what that means. Chicago is a city by a lake that is big enough for a large ship such as this," he points to his tattoo, "could sail it."

"Okay . . ." He continues to look at me when I realize what he is saying and my eyes become big with understanding. "No!" Without another word I'm out of the car and walking around, opening Edward's door.

"Bella what–?" He looks confused, but I cut him off, pissed like hell.

"Out."

"What?"

"Get out!"

"What– what's going on?" he asks as he cuts off the engine and gets out.

Still I say nothing. I simply grab his things and bag from the seat and drop it at his feet as I finally turn to him. "You want to go to Chicago, that's what's going on. Well, have a good trip." I make to climb back into the car, but Edward grabs my arm to stop me.

"Bella–"

"No! We had a deal!" I speak angrily as I tear my arm out of his hand.

"I know, but–"

"I would follow you to the house of horrors and then we would go to the police. That was the deal."

"I know, but–"

"No! No but. No anything. That was our deal." I'm speaking loudly, feeling mad and frustrated with him for going back on his words.

"Bella, I have to go to Chicago."

"Yeah, I got that. So, hasta la vista, baby." I climb into the car, shutting the door, but Edward is already on the other side, getting into the passenger seat with his bag before I can turn the key. I give him a bewildered look. Did he not get my _Terminator_ reference . . .?

"Okay, you don't want to go to Chicago."

"Oh good, you did get that, because some people might have gotten confused when you got back into the car; the car that is going to the police, here in Seattle, to report some psychopaths who's been having a ball trying to kill me today. Have you seen my face?" I ask ironically pointing at it, knowing how banged up I look.

"I know. I'm sorry, and I get it, so here's what I'm suggesting. I drop you off by the police and I'll pay you to let me keep your car." He starts to dig around in his bag for the money as the anger just floats through me.

"I don't want your stupid money! And I don't want to go to Chicago! I just want you to do as you promised!" Edward simply looks at me with sorry eyes, holding a bundle of cash in his hand and another wave of frustration washes over me because this just isn't fair. "I can't _believe_ you! I can't _fucking_ believe you!" I'm actually gripping at my hair in pure exasperation.

"Bella, listen to me, I've _got_ to go to Chicago. I _need_ to know what is there." He places a hand on my arm, trying to make me calm down but I yank myself away, not wanting him to touch me.

"What exactly do you think will happen if you go to Chicago?" I try to speak calmly, looking straight ahead, avoiding all eye contact with him.

"I don't know. I just know I have to go there. It's a lead."

I don't say anything as I think things over. "So, let's say you drop me off at the police." He hums, letting me know he is listening, but doesn't say anything as I contemplate this for another moment. "What exactly will happen then? I mean, they'll ask me a bunch of questions, right? Questions that I can't really answer." I'm speaking more to myself than him as I start to rant, realizing the most likely outcome. "And they'll say they'll do what they can, but really they can't do anything, because I can't really tell them anything. And then I'll go back to a house with no front door . . ." I feel both tired and defeated by this ridiculous situation as I lean my head against the wheel. "And if I'm _really_ lucky, the creeps are gonna show up at my doorstep tomorrow for round two."

"Well, yeah . . . maybe."

"Argh!" I exclaim loudly, stumping my feet against the bottom of the car in frustration, hitting the steering wheel with my hands, and feeling myself nearing a breaking point. I don't like the thought of them showing up at my house again; with no Edward to protect me. "I just want this to be over, dammit!" I slam my fist hard against the door and to my surprise the panel pops out, falling to the bottom of the car. "What– what the fuck?" Pulled out of my thoughts I look at it in confusion, picking it back up.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I was checking the whole thing over for hidden mics earlier. I tried to reapply it, but it won't stick."

"You . . . what?" I finally turn to look at him.

"It just hit me when I was fixing the car that they might have broken into it and placed mics this morning when they shot at us in your house. That it's how they found us again."

"Did you find any?"

"No. Better safe than sorry though."

I roll my eyes but then become serious. "You really think they might come back if I go home?"

"I can't say for sure that they won't. So, maybe, yeah."

I turn my gaze out the windshield again, weighing my options. Really, though, all my options suck. I can go home and cross my fingers that they won't show up and be completely helpless if they do. Not to mention they will kill me for sure. Or, I can go with Edward knowing they will be chasing us, but also standing a chance to survive this nightmare because of him. Take my chance on my own and die _if_ they return or flee with Edward with a chance to survive _when_ they return. This is an impossible decision to make.

"Bella, I need an answer now."

I squeeze my eyes shut, hating this more than anything. "If I go with you, you can't guarantee my safety, but you'll do what you can, right?"

"If you do as I say, I'll do everything I can. But you do realize that includes not arguing with me, right?"

"I don't argue–!" I stop, realizing that I, in fact, just started arguing with him as he looks at me with raised brows. "I want my own gun," I divert.

"Sure." Edward nods slowly.

"And you'll teach me how to use it."

He stops nodding. "You've never shot a gun before?" I simply look at him, as the answer seems pretty obvious. "I'll teach you." He starts nodding again. "But if you're coming with me." I give him a skeptical look, prepared for what he might say. "We have to do something about the way you look."

"Do you think I like walking around looking like a punching bag?"

"No, I mean your hair."

"What's wrong with my hair?" I touch it self-consciously.

"Nothing, but they know what we look like, so we'll have to change that."

* * *

><p>I pull the hood of my sweatshirt a little tighter around my face as I enter the small convenience store that advertised that they are selling ammunition. Edward has written down what kinds I need to get, along with a list of other necessities. I make my way around, trying not to draw attention to myself, while Edward walks around outside with Pippin and the loaded gun, keeping guard. Yup, this is what my life has become in less than twenty-four hours . . . fan-fucking-tastic.<p>

As I get some toothbrushes and hair dye, the TV by the cashier alerts me to a newscast showing. It's some shaky cell phone footage of my car driving down the highway, moving rapidly in and out between the cars, from when we got to Seattle this morning. I freeze, feeling panicked as I listen to what they are saying. The police have been unable to find my car, as we were already gone when they arrived. There is no trace of the cars that were chasing us or mine, so the police ask for the public to keep their eyes open. I drop the toothbrushes in my shopping basket and start to move around the store as quickly as I dare without it seeming suspicious; getting food, water and everything else on the list.

As the man behind the counter adds everything up I can sense he's looking at me; my heart hammering away in my chest. I am _so_ not cut out for this shit.

"Are you okay?" he asks when I glance up at him, looking at me with either suspicion or concern, I can't quite tell.

_No._

"Yeah." I give him an awkward smile, lowering my gaze. "Just been in an accident," I lie, thinking it's a plausible explanation for my bruised face.

"Oh, I'm sorry." He hands me over my many bags of groceries as I pay with Edward's money. "I hope you'll feel better."

"Thanks." I drag everything out of the shop to find Edward with my pink baseball cap with the word 'Princess' written in rhinestones across the front pulled low on his head with Pippin. "We have to go. Now." I speak in a low, urgent voice.

Edward grabs a couple of bags for me as we walk to the car; Pippin unwilling to keep up with our quick pace as he's trying to eat some old hot dog he's found lying on the ground.

"Did you get everything?" Edward asks, dragging a struggling Pippin behind us.

"Yeah."

We quickly get back into the car. Edward takes the wheel as I place Pippin in my lap and we speed out of there. It isn't long before we're on the freeway, moving along with the late night traffic as we leave Seattle behind us—and hopefully also a pair of sick bloodthirsty maniacs—heading toward Chicago.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Pink cap and Smashing Pumpkins' song on the blog . . . Link on my profile.


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